Saturday, March 05, 2016

Field event

It’s like this: your sons and daughters, immune to
their own beauty, ask me to bless their weapons
before stepping into the arena. Or, maybe, it’s
something else entirely: an archipelago of stories
strung together along meridians invisible to me,
current flowing electric in the interstices between
each awkward, graceful island. All I know is what
I saw: a young titan, hoisting a rusting world over-
head while other young gods laughed and mocked;
an olive-skinned Radha, emboldened by her gopis
to go and fetch the sun, toss it back into the sky.

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