Revel in the rising day
and in the dawn of the dark. You are
voracious, you trickster, an
empty diamond mine that wants its children back. There is
no doubt that you stole the sun,
no doubt that you were the thief
in my father’s house. These days, I light
candles to burn the dark cloak
off my back. Our tongues like crisp wood,
looking for the water that you stole. And there are
even holes in the walls,
ragged and rotten-edged like
a dead man’s mouth, where the stars and moon used to hang. By your
very own brand of medicine, you enter my head and
even wrap my dreams around your body like I would
never know it was you. How else do my dreams have feathers and
need to fly? You of the firebrand, burnt beak,
incorrigible lust flame that lit up my womb. See our child – he is a
coal-colored spirit, now grown up and stealing
opal and crystal from the eyes of his
lovers. Just like you. You purple star, you black-feathered libertine. Yet
even so, I still await your thievery with an open door.
© 2010 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
This poem is #27 written for NaPoWriMo 2010 and was written for NaPoWriMo #27: Let Someone Else Take the Lead over at Read Write Poem. We were invited to write an acrostic poem, taking some element of ourselves. This is a persona poem in the voice of the Sun Chief’s daughter. She addresses Raven, a trickster and sometimes creator deity in the lore of some Pacific Northwest tribes. I hope you enjoyed it. My (lengthy) process notes are in the first comment of this post.