(A
Blank Verse for the priestess)
Hear her Semitic moans in the halls and Tombs
of
Tartarus;
whose eyes have seen the moth-bones
Of
kings. Whose mouth has drunk their acrid wine:
Once
beheld as the fairest star divine.
She is
the moist fungus, algae, the scab—
That
clings to the eyelids of Enkidu!
Where
low the tombs, high Sumerians lie!
Now but
vulture shadows with broken wings.
Tell
all: hear the great priestess Shamhat cry:
Her
skull stone stricken, staring to the sky…!
No rays
of the moon to cross her vast night—
The owl
and the sphinx and the gross toad:
Indecipherable
leave their mockery,
Endure
her ceaseless prowl, imaginings, —
Her cry
of kingdoms lost and gods dethroned:
Bear
her endless moans in Tartarus’ tombs.
No: 4485 (7-22-2014)
