Glorification de L'Élue
She was so beautiful I thought I might die
but that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters
is that they tied six girls to the tree and threw
rocks and flowers at their heads. I shudder at the thought
of seeing with my eyes open. Lada asked me how I
was feeling, God bless her, as I wept beneath her effigy.
Some days it’s quite easy to lose track of the time.
Some days the gods swallow minutes like blackberries.
The farmer’s daughter saw a demon—
his eyes black, his arms red, his hooves silver—
walking along the river. He asked her what stories she had
to tell, so she sat him down on a rock to tell him about
the apocalypse. And that stupid thing, he shook with
anger (or maybe fear) and taught the girl how to sew her skin. I
was watching from heaven, clawing the flesh off my knees
and sending lightning to fill their veins. Nothing hit them.
They made love on the riverbank and married on a day
when the sun looked like a swelling rose. Sometimes
I visit her in dreams and hope that she’ll see me, and she
often does. My shape is familiar to her despite its translucence.
Each morning when she wakes up she grasps for me but,
upon regaining full consciousness, can’t remember just
what she is looking for. Meanwhile, I am shrieking at
the top of my lungs and setting the scarecrows on fire fire fire.