baisemain
“Because, my dear, in the spiritual life opposites meet. It’s not the cold passionless ones who become great ascetics, but the most hot-blooded, people with something worth renouncing. That’s why the church won’t allow eunuchs to become priests.”
Sheba spoke to me as I danced blue and silver; I hear her laugh from the dark.
She wore so many jewels; her essence was heavy and cold. Her lips were gold and the rest of her black. Someone poured magenta over the ruins so behind her blazed red. Every time I moved, she followed. I could see her head tilt in my direction though her gaze was obscured.
The way my hands moved away from my body, I knew they were not mine. The motions I used to expand were Sheba’s; she ran as water through my bones. My consciousness drifted inside and outside of salt and stone. The snakes bit my legs and I feel wetness running into the rocks. With each drop, the landscape came alive.
Shapes move in whispers and I recoil into a cave where I can hear dripping. The pebbles are wet and when I bring my hands to my mouth for a sip, it is iron. My blood gives birth to a reality. Sheba has left me alone in this space, tight and concealed. It is Plato's cave and my hands are chained to the wall. I see shadows so there must be light.
Where are you?
I long to speak but I’ve no tongue.
I ask for one and the snakes fall into my mouth.
A man is walking back and forth on the wall. He holds up each palm with three triangles drawn. I move to place my hands over his, and the chains burn into my wrists. Fire spreads through my nervous system. I press my fingertips to the rough stone and my palms to the sacred geometry. The man opens his mouth, and I am sucked in.
I hear Sheba laughing in the dark.
