she was a god
living in dark furrows
of earth-smelling earth,
that woman the stars were named for.
She was a god
living in the corn husk and silk
world that was torn open.
She was sister to the heat waves
rising up southern nights.
Don’t come close!
Crony of red sky, she lived
beneath stones,
those progeny of stars
with their long waiting
for what?
Tonight she is exiled to cupboards and stoops.
Even the stars and moon
have fallen
over summer’s edge,
burning like razed towns
charred heart and soul
to earth.
Surrounded by flames
she wants to sting herself
to death.
But sister,
with no escape
from mean fire
and life or death,
and there’s a whole continent
in this ring of fire,
breaking,
breaking into itself
with stinger and beak,
stopping its own watched heart,
that prehistoric heart
that remembers the gods
of furrow and corn.
That scorpion life
exiled to brown shoes and porches
knows something is wrong.
She is crawling
out the shoe,
that danger to bony feet.
Even the elements are at war.
I see,
I see
in the old days
we were all gods,
even the foot and its leather.
We were all gods
of shelter,
all this fiery life burning like wood,
and it does.