Arc

There's a story behind this poem, which I'll write very soon in another post (though you may want to look at these pictures for some context). For now, enjoy!

We could both feel it
Fear--chemical and rich
Like lemongrass being crushed underfoot
The hairs on my neck
Like down on the throat of a bird
Standing upright--undotted i's
The hairs on her head
Like broken violin strings, curling like fingers into shy fists
Curving around the wakes of my fingers
And then
Around the bend came two slices of tusks
Framed in green, in gray
Like broken moons, like fenders
And from deep in her belly, a scared growl
A groan
An apology
And I cocked my ear, listening
My minuscule ear bones straining like baby wings
My knuckles whitening around the leathery flaps of her ears
And then,
A message
A transmission...
Her head was an arc between past and future
Her movement, my movement
A strange dust rose as she shook
Mud and roots and growth filled my mouth
As I hit the ground
Gasping, laughing
Safe
And the face of my Teacher
Bent, creased, parched with knowing
Smiled with tusks instead of teeth
And the space between danger and safety,
Known and unknown
Was paved with air
My skin was left behind
And the mud was a deeply lined palm
Breath stopped, then started again
The trees and the minutes were elephant ears
Mapping the future in folds
Filling the dark caverns with a simple, timeless faith.