Red lips to say, follow me, here: into this maze of
tall hedges,
this black cave where you cannot see.
Red lips, red tongue to say: join me here, in the deep
primacy
of my anger, my spite, my justice.
Dig in, but it will not save you.
Wear armor, but it will not protect you.
Red lips, red tongue, red teeth, and the tapering
of ten beloved claws.
If you read my weaponry as coquette, why would I save
you?
This battleground is strewn with others’ lives, others’
blood;
I am not ashamed. I am not done.
You needed me:
you relied on me, on my strong hands and fierce teeth,
to kill and conquer and build a Zion all our own.
You lived in my mud walls, slept in my wolves’ fur.
You needed me. And when the sun came up
and you could see the sweeter groves, the wildflowers,
simple, pink,
you did not want me.
My bitter strength was no longer of use.
The power of my muscles and the taste of my sweat
was no longer desirable.
But, mouth to the moon, I have not built
my last soundscape: fill me
with the noise of your fear.
Blow this dark sky open with the weight of your
insistence:
that I cannot keep you, that I am not worthy.
The sun will rise again, crimson
flames in an indigo sky; Mars and Mercury loom
over my dark horizon.
My mud will stand, my claws stay sharp, you know
the sun will set. Long nights will reign, and
your summer child will have no sap left to sell.
When the vultures come, they will tell you that I sent
them.
When the maggots rise, they will already know your
name.
