You & I

You and I escaped somehow,

and marched

toward the icy hill,

resplendent in our

torn nightgowns.

.

Wardens

screamed down,

but on we went,

kids damning the world

with a smirk.

.

Oh, how they sharpened their teeth —

on adamantine stones, no less —

till merely dutiful incisors became

fangs of assassins,

and their eyes turned scarlet

in the snowlight.

.

Haunted now,

we climbed on,

our bare feet bleeding

in the frost,

red rivulets behind,

and sang our one

demented

tune:

“Oh, where have you been,

Where have you been,

My dear one,

My sweet one?”

.

Along we sang

in that ghastly light,

and never stopped,

or stammered,

only marched and sang and bled,

ghosts of a doomed crusade,

pledged only

to the mist which assaulted our skin,

to cold which curled our lips,

to the frozen path on which

our purple toes squirmed,

eels frostbitten

and starved.

.

We never arrived,

never thought of arriving.

Going possessed us,

on and on,

no why or where,

squeezed on all sides by

screams and teeth and ice into

a single farcical speck of

terror and resolve,

refugees

made mute and ragged and blind —

.

But then,

As if the earth itself had

sung out wreaths of springtime,

Song of Songs,

no why or where,

but singing too like ones who knew,

Arriving,

all trace of meanness burned away,

feet healed and warm upon green soil,

and from our eyes a trillion stars,

and never a thought

of the frozen camp

in which we had awoken

so bitterly

a century ago.

--

--

--

Mindfulness/yoga teacher, actor, writer, singer. Independent critical thinker. Heterodox views. Illuminating dark places.

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Blake Shields Abramovitz

Blake Shields Abramovitz

Mindfulness/yoga teacher, actor, writer, singer. Independent critical thinker. Heterodox views. Illuminating dark places.

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