Hetaerae

Hetaerae

Ashes on embers now
Not rekindled
In this house of a thousand women,
A thousand nights
And a thousand fat men
I remembered the one who gave me a boon--
Jewel-encrusted at bottom
Heady, sweet
Amber and almonds
The scent we scrubbed ourselves to be
The cave of our insides
That we veiled with incense.
I remembered once
Dog-on-the-Rug
He always brought it with him
As we made the gamos
(The first time, the dog thought I was dying when I cried out).
Warm baths anticipated,
Sleep, clouded by the right roots.
I was the fire when I was hetaerae
I was most-loved
Because I had the names of the Most Mighty
Etched into my skin.
Today, they will not grant me burial
In their necropolis.
Their horses trod over the soil that honored us, night by night
Their prophet says
“Love in this way bars you
From We Who Are Clean.”
Goodnight, goodnight
Remember the ember of my aeon.
When the Most Mighty was kissed in words on my skin.
“It is written.”
It is written.
Pricked onto me with blood.
Before this, I was queen
In the house of a thousand women.
3/8/11

The Shore

The Shore

One day my heart overflowed
And brought me to the edge of the memory
On which banked the shore that you loved so much.
And you were there, thinking of your fisherman father
And holding your baby’s hand
(Who’s now almost a man).
Together we glimpsed the smooth sand of this distant night.
Here, I loved every broken piece of you.
I whisper it now, when you’re long-gone
So I can be near the shore.
3/8/11

Purple (Judgment)

Purple (Judgment)

The royal leavings of the evening
Have a swiftness unmatched in their passing.
Where the tentative past decayed,
There bursts the enlightened present
And the intuitions, intimations
Of a shroud left behind.
In twilight, we come to light the lamp of wisdom
As we hold the final preparations close.
The wounded soldier, face and race obscured, grimaces as life rushes out
“I tried at this game called humanity
And purple was my heart
But I am not one to say whether my efforts were noble.”
Who lives with our deeds at the end?
2/12/11

Indigo

Indigo

She walked between things once
Valleys
And columns that held up the temple
Swathed and marked
With the memories of war
Long yardage
Stolen domesticity
Perfumed with almond scent
Dusky but near the hottest part of the flame
Clapping between her hands
Things known only at the time near sunset
When the desert cools;
The hour for which they have a special word.
2/11/11

Untitled

Who eats at the table of the arcane?
The taste blinds me.
In every living cell there is movement;
Stagnation is illusion.
See how the most delicate flower breathes.
My atoms are hurtling, hurtling.

3/1/11