Today I went to Kleifarvatn again
I’m not sure what I wanted to see.
The mountains around it bulged with
Strange colours, ochre and rust, bent
As only hardened lava can be. Even
The sandy shore reared away from
The whipped waters, blinding the black
Shores brown. I let the hair blow into my eyes.
“Look”, I said. “How astonishing, the ropey
Ground. How it rippled as it flowed.”
The mists hid almost everything, but I saw
The water’s edge, white-frothed and clear.
“I’m so glad you could see this,” I said to my friend.
“I always bring everyone here.”
Tag: courage
A Song for Venus
She rises and sets with the sun, her brightness
Second only to the moon. The one
Woman among the nine – or eight if you
Consider size – born to bear life, like Earth.
The wings of Icarus fell like the borrowed
Feathers they were; the body of Venus tells
The story of every woman who ventures
Too near the light, every blasted rock testament
To the fierce and fiery fight. Like every
Woman’s skin scorched and blighted, Venus’s
Face frights the timid-sighted. For pity
Of man’s eyes, a mantle drapes her livid scars
And so she blazes briefly in the skies, defying
Sun and moon, in a sisterhood of stars.
A Hundred and One Nights of the Falcon
Where I come from, no gift comes in round numbers. No ten
Rupees is ever given, it is always eleven, a token
Of not finishing, not ending, the extra one a harbinger
An invitation, a wish, a granting of plenty, of more
To come. Auspicious, we call it. A bringing to the fore
Of a promise for the years before the young. Where
I come from there is a tale of a clever woman who staved
Off death with a thousand tales, each one saved
For another night won, a full thousand and one. Where
I come from, legend has it that women sat vigil not
One night or two, not a couple, a handful, a dozen, a
Few. Stories are told in hushed tones of a full hundred
And one, every thrower of stones has heard it, every
Wielder of guns. Songs are sung of the women of the night
Who spread their wings, became falcons, and took flight.