Obsidian’s Edge 15

3:00 pm

Old Woman




Sandpaper wind
polishing the land
erasing its identity
as barefoot
over dust and stone
the old woman
feasts her heart
on a banquet of song.

A rag-bag her body
stitched together
by memories and bone.



She shows me fear
in these grey shadows
dancing their dust
beneath carved rocks.



Abandoned now,
visited only by ghosts,
this resurrected ball park.
Buried beneath their stones
its heroes,
the men who wooed her.

I look at carved faces.

Which one captured
her flowering heart,
pierced it with an arrow,
and scarred her name
letter by letter
on the face of this rock

5 thoughts on “Obsidian’s Edge 15

  1. The description probably does not apply to the existing culture, but in these ancient meso-American peoples I feel a reserve, a stubbornness and a dogged determination. I think it has something to do with the association with stone.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Dainzú is a strange place with an ethereal spirit that I have scarcely been able to capture. It has stuck in my mind as a place of beatific quietude yet is riddled with secret threats, wild cattle, and underground tunnels. I struggled with this poem and hope that some of that wilderness spirit of survival amidst ruins has come across.

    Liked by 1 person

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