To get here
you have to climb trough
hills where the fiercest monkeys live.
You will see flashes of sunlight,
the wind rippling across
their honey brown furand
you might watch, entrancedbut
they will descend screaming, enraged,
they will chase you away
rushing you on to the snakes-
And if you wory
about where to step
you will never find your way.
Over here
only the blackest stones
can become snakescobras-
little kingssome
lie almost asleep beneath treestheir
heads moulded into sleekness,
such genleness curled into the grass-
Others rise up, hoods flared
as if to say, welcome, welcome
as if to say, welcome, welcome
but bewarethey
rise up
and yet, they are frozen
forever in that poise.
Nearby, an old man sits
waiting for coins, for an offering of fruitwaiting
for someone who needs
to be blessed-
Only the Blackest Stones
What will you say to him?
What will you do?
Cloth dolls hang
from these trees above the snakes:
finger sized flowershere
and there
tiny cradles danglegreen
and pink peayersdusty,
dusty-even this faded
yellow cloth, a faceless thing
tied to a branch, begs for children
to be born-many childrenmanyfurther
up-there’s another path
where steps lead to a terrace-
And if you enter
you are filled
with the solitude of snakesyou
are surronded-
Their black stone skins breathe in the heat-turmeric stained
they stare at you
and their souls pulse gold-
Despite the density of stone
their souls are almost liquid,
their souls are egg yolksround,
firm, slippery gold
deep inside-somewhere
there is movement
insects breathing across leavesa
throbbing-as their blackness
absorbs the heat-
Only the Blackest Stones
Sometimes
if you look away
at the sky-you can find
the words you mind needs
against the silence-
Tumeric stained
stone snakesthey
stare at you
as if ready to listen-
A small girl breaks the silenceshe
calls out to her father and stars running-
She zig zags between the snakes,
running across the terracecircling
one way
and then another-
Her thin arms moving fast,
bones jutting out of her elbows-
She doesn’t stop.
