It didn’t take a white-hot whirlwind
To set me down for good
on this smoking plain;
I was turning hard already—
tired of the edicts and injunctions,
of following my husband’s
righteous backside.
I wanted to stay put.
I had friends here, raw
as unbeaten linen, but kind
in their way. I stand facing the village.
It is raining ashes. The groans
of our dying neighbors fall
softly, like the rain.
A few stumble from caves,
alive, seeking water.
Wait till they find me!
It will be awkward at first;
they’ll marvel, then keep away.
I won’t mind; I am at home
in my mineral skin
and not alone.
Mornings they seek me
in the sulfurous pasture,
the ones who never ask why.
I know them by their sweet breath,
their questing tongues.
I grow thin in the middle.
They have consumed my heart,
but I will become part of their flesh
and part of my people forever.
Very soon I will break in two,
my feet dissolving into this cursed
ground along with my name,
my dry eyes staring straight up
into the dry eye of God
without blinking.