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I
She dreamed of a stranger; his heavy robes glistening like soot. Dates
he showed her: one in her past, the other yet to be, and confused,
begged for understanding she could not give. They prayed. Together
the two are stronger, their prayers whispered
in a single voice.
II
She walks behind the women, negrita, their dark mantles
blacker than her skin. The sign of the cross dutifully performed
and she takes of their bodies,
wraps her golden shawl to cover head,
unshorn locks. In distemper, walks slowly away,
unfulfilled.
III
She dreams no longer. Meets the stranger;
his heavy robes yet glistening. Dates he shows her: bits of calendars,
one in his not yet to come, the other years hence. She cries,
begs to understand. He dares not explain, blesses her the same
as women who have walked ahead of her,
their dark mantles shielding her from sin.
IV
The women will shield her no longer. They open a path
in their midst, she follows: Light and dark
lie equally at their feet. Her eyes
adjust
to the darkness.
V
The poet is bipolar. She tells lies to Jesus,
parties with Lucifer. Their stories
never end; each narrative goes first straight away,
then astray. Each verse
complete
only within itself.
