Desire is never one way. Black snakes crawl through your throat. The divine longs for human proximity to divinity. The divine longs for touch. You have not wanted a body. And you have wanted. A careless tongue can make chatter but unrequited love can make an avalanche. Your teeth chatter and you know somewhere a funeral parade is moving, one ant after another marching. Your snake shed its skins as the curve of a pilgrimage awaiting dawn. Heaven is too much a metaphor to be of use to a lover weeping for a false love. Every shaman needs a healer and every God a devotee they can admire. When God comes back from the pilgrimage, you are more plump. Everyone can see your wisdoms sprouting. This time — dangerous. Even women will cast stones. Watch the people's hands: they carry shards of their half-spoken dreams. But you have invented an embrace. In the first worship, you make the one devoted to devotion devoted to you. You bring the mountain into your lips. Without prayer, your mouth blooms. Copyright © 2019 by Purvi Shah. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 22, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets. |
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