A savage urge leads to Pele's feet.
Built up like a woman held captive,
Muted since snake became sin,
Here is proof of her ancient fury,
Molton spewed to Hilo's watery mouth.
Mystified by her onxy'd pride,
She breathes, grumbles, boiling still,
"I am immortal," and magma drools
Like restless coals of clouds.
Goddess of Fire stokes her
Craters for the next fleshy feast.
This midnight walk on dusty road,
Shows obsidian boulders bittered -
Buckled up, word against word, broken black,
Her revenge hardened and proof sharp
As the point of shattered ore.
Under holy host moon,
Over omniscient sea,
I know I am more than far from home.
And middled I stand on a dusty road
That mediates fire and sea.
Then numinously timed,
A mist clears. A mirage?
No, an oasis.
How came this -
A ring of fine strong palm tree.
Managed up in spite of her spite,
Her jagged dam to kill all life.
O sacred ring, a temenos, as if
To taunt - life will live despite.
Large flayed palms, bowed heavy
As if in prayer,
On the edge of this still sea.
For there, She says, she shed a tear,
At Hilo's ocean's feet,
And there they grew,
A ring of palm,
The quality of mercy.
My heart so pulled to cross Pele's quest,
Drawn to reach this circled womb.
O Fire Goddess, you tempt me hard,
Call me to this crucible,
Rouse me to endure a test of spears,
Over your jagged black glass,
To lay in this palmed altar.
To lay inside this hallowed ring
This botanical temple,
She would have me bleed my veins,
Shred and tear my flesh
Across her acrid spiky bones,
To feed her smoking hunger.
Like ancient drumming
This ritual calls deep,
Builds to frenzied sweat,
Yet, when I silence my breath,
I notice only my heart beat.
So I stay middled, crossed,
And kneeled on this dusty road.
Stretched to trembling as if
Crucified by volcano and sea.
An ancient grief builds up in me.
Face to dust, I spew forth
An ageless muted anger,
Eruptions of dammed ancestral sin,
I bleed my tears to the sulphur wind.
Like Pele's they come out in jags.
Until they too spill down to the edge
Of the sea's anointing hand.
Awash in dirt, surrendered in soil,
Unchoked from years of shadow,
Perhaps, I wonder, my ashen tear
Will plant a seed,
Grow a ring of palm tomorrow.
Mimi Gauthier
|
Submission Name: Pele's Mercy
