This poem is the third of six written for January 2010′s Read Write Poem Mini-Challenge (to write six poems about starting over in six days). For this poem, I borrowed from the story of Akka Mahadevi, a 12th century sanyasini (female saint) and poet from Karnataka in India. Her entire life was spent in a search for the Divine, to the point where she refused the proposal of a local king (but then was forced to marry him). One day she left home, renouncing even her clothes, and traveled until she found an ashram. She remained there, writing a few hundred poems, or vacanas which tell of her journey, her struggles, and her devotion to the Divine (in this case, Shiva). If you want to read more about her, check out this article on her and this post from Read Write Poem profiling her and her work in their obscure poets series.
To see the other mini-challenge poems that I am writing this month, click here.
So read on, and enjoy.
You’ll probably think
that it’s the old story of the woman and the snake, claim that I
took in strange fruit like a foreign cock, think that I
shed my robes of loyalty for something
on the edge of the forest with drumbeats that might
make you smile like death in a clean red curve
across your neck. But the truth is,
you never knew the breath beneath the brass, the chimera
unfolding in a time-lapse burn under
layers of gold trophy paint. You shined my skin, checked
your reflection in my mirror, and moved on,
our lives burned on to the back of your eyelids like
you and I were the Ten Commandments written in
rock. Thou shalt be beautiful, and I shalt
never be home. I, your trinket goddess,
an Aphrodite in blond and curve. I was always
on your shelf, at your table, and in your
bed. And now I