Ascension
Roy Lazarus
20 July 2009, 01:45The flock of crows dip falteringly, then descend in a V
Over her furrowed brow. Behind, the sun beats in a violent pulse,
Bending around the edges of the umbra –
Her face, the crows, her sorrows.
Nearby, brown children sit quietly by the rank pool,
Mingling salty vapors with clay stained schmattes
That burn strange brands on stranger water.
The leaves have fallen silent, bending their heads;
The bees sit quietly in their hives, waiting for their Queen
Who lies trampled in a distant road.
The sweat trickles down the bridge and drips down her nose.
Drop after drop, they fall and shatter on the floor.
The darkness fades away her features, her lines – crinkled gorges
In which gush the waters of a thousand painful rivers:
She has been tired for a long, long time now.
In the silence, her shadow is a black patch on a blind eye.
A careless roar stabs the thoughtful quiet.
In the reels of memory, the violence plays over again and again,
Carving out gorge over gorge, blood over blood.
This earth is not hers – she is a stranger in this land.
Timorous, the light flickers an instant in glazed pupils,
Then flutters away in a caprice back where it belongs.
