Ramón E. Martínez


Survivor at the Burning Cistern

Deeper and deeper into your own distance
you tumble, swinging a dented dipper
into buckets of smoke.  What's the answer?
You don't believe in water, only

in secrets if you can't have one.  So the fire
is transgressing, and you turn around inside it,
amazing and deep.  If you invented a sister,
a witch to outlast you, you'd pass on your grace,

involvement with embers, mystery.
Cameo in charred coral, a Psyche knot
at your neck, devious arson
at heart, you ladle

gray orchids from ash.  This
is your error: you dream too long
of the galvanized pail, scooping your life
out of cinders, speaking

the language of women.  You say: see
I am here
--holding the scalloped shell,
hemorrhaging, but calm,
a rightful survivor.

Caught at a standstill, you must burn
the wonder you feel; you cannot drink from the
.......well
forever, fighting the chimney
and the clattering rain.

Copyright © Ramón E. Martinez, 1999.  All Rights Reserved.


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