The Giaour

Photo by Thalia Ruiz on Unsplash

A Poem

And there was Emilian
Standing forever
Dark like a sprite
Catching neon in her eye
Her black merciless eye.
What a thing to mother
To bring shrieking forth
And nurture in hate and love:

She must love her
She who bore her
Freed her
Clothed her
Cast her upon the world
God of her existence.

The light changes
Traffic weaves
And Emilian follows,
Her relentless progeny.
The solid corpse of her body
A visitation of heavy flesh
And fashioned muscle
Tall, as she herself is,
Broad, like a sword,
Treading fatefully ever after her.

Always she is there
Always in the corner of her eye
Mottled white skin
And painted on black
Black eyes, black hair, black tears
Ready to go to war.

And when that black eye turns
She scalds, smirking viciously
Eyebrow arched in glee
As if hate alone were
Air and sun and water.