Friday, October 12, 2012

Weekly Writing: In the Hall of Bulls

In the Hall of Bulls

During the painting ritual
is when I first saw her:
blue eyes,
darkened skin,
wide grin.
Beautiful as the winter sun.
Deep in the cave,
away from tribal parenting,
we paint our spirits.
Although, I eager
to impress,
tried to depict
myself slaying a bison.
Bison, rough and threatening;
began to draw myself
but cannot take eyes
from her gracefulness.
How she spawns a lovely
beast from fingertips.
A rhinoceros,
strong and fierce,
yet make a sweet mother
for growing calf.
Smudge the painting,
no longer a human head
but that of a birds.
Hear her giggle,
quietly, not meaning
to disturb,
and left a kiss
on my cheek
before heading back to her family.
Many tribes come
for the festival,
so many it's hard
to find sweet girl again.
Weaving though
crowds and still
could not seek
girl with the sky
in her eyes.

Descend down
to the burial lands.
Great large stones
with prayers.
Gathered all in
its hold,
huddled close
for winter is cold.
Start to sing,
start to chant,
and pray
to spirits of Death.
The old emerge,
to the center.
There I see her,
lonely crying
until my hand
reaches out to hers.
She's watching
her father stand
ready to ascend.
Powerful chants
forces symbols
on the stones to light.
Singing to the old,
how we love them
but it's time
to go,
time to say
Ground shakes
beneath us,
for we wake
the spirits
with our prayers.
Rising forth
from the earth,
take  our
elders in fire
to live a new
life in the underworld
and leaving only their ashes
behind in ours.

Return next
two summers.
The girl with the sky
in her eyes,
holding my hand
and her stomach,
Fingers dirty
from the caves
as the tribes
gather around
her and I.
Lay sweet woman
in the center
of the ground.
Leave a kiss
on her cheek.
Step back
and join in chants.
Sing as the light
forms underneath her.
Sing as the spirits
help new life
come into ours.
Spirits descend.
A new child in her hands.
A baby girl:
blue eyes,
darkened skin,
wide grin.
Beautiful as the summer sun.

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