I am Ishtar.
I shall rise up and consume you.
Wrestle ,
Pit my strength against yours,
Limb
to limb.
Sinews taut,
Rock muscles,
Drape my naked body in your pelt,
Become you ,
Draw on your power.
Words,
History.
Just as you have re-collected small islands of my past and painted them the wrong colours,
For you have inhabited each recess of my mind,
Left me no peace ,
Walked behind me in shadows
Mocking gently .
Where we entwine, you dismiss me yet.
Called me from your distress,
Needed me,
Sometimes.
Then
Distance ourselves,
Of necessity .
Your story
A canvas through which I daily walk.
Not in the skin of a lion
But
In My own
Wrinkling hide.
You
Walked on wide beaches today.
Sun warming clay
Allowing what has unfolded
Its rightful place .
Mind freed,
pain of memory,
Place and space of what might have been
And what has been
lost.
Perhaps,
Probably.
And your face
Following me.
Your eyes
Your being,
Presence,
Fill my thoughts,
and you have so much to think about but I do not think that you have thought of me, today, at all, not even a passing thought, a glimmer , nothing.
.
And the phone again says ‘silent,’
For it is.
As I try once more to cast you adrift,
Steer a steady course thro troubled waters.
Somewhere In Suffolk, a woman walks
Slowly.
Bent,
cowed
with pain.
Graying hair on thinning temples
Muttering
‘I am Ishtar
and I will rise…’
(Ishtar: East Semitic Akkadian, Assyrian and Babylonian goddess of fertility, love, war, and sex.) |