Story

prologue

this old woman is not empty
no more than the moon
slight
silvered
sliver
is empty
she is also hiding
in cloaks of time and shadow
and memory
her body
her life
are not diminished
or dimmed
but filled
and filling

she steps
with purpose
beyond the waters rushing edge
till oceans fill her boots
and she casts a net for fish
all of the sky reflected
on a calm sea surface reflected
in her eyes
all of the sky in her eyes
the movement of back
shoulders
arms
treacherous feet on the sand
shifting under the surface
sing a hymn
louder than voices
a spirit chant to the mother
that vaults the spaces between
suns
distant only in straight lines
and narrow minds putting
labels
on everything
hoping it will bring revelation
like counting the names of god
or dancing angels
but the angels
and the names
and the suns
are all in this woman's eyes
and the movement of back
shoulders
arms
and treacherous feet
and boots

full of oceans

she is singing her life
silently
to the night
to the moon
to her mother
to her sisters

and in the dawn
in the morning
she listens
to the stories
the white birds tell
spinning
and wheeling
in clear skies
above the water
and she listens
and sometimes she laughs
and sometimes she weeps
sometimes she weeps

a story

a gasp of air
held one moment longer than time
and body
will allow
pressure constant about her
head
face
ears
throat
chest constricted
bands of icy metal
inside/
outside
and bells
ring
counterpoint
pounded drums
echo her head
behind her back
hands and wrists feel
rough rope
cruciform ridges and an
unyielding spine of
wood

air
when it strikes her body
and face
is an absence of water
summoning
almost foreign
as her ears become accustomed to
roar
and jeer
her eyes filled with
water running
and angry faces

somewhere
so distant
a bell rings
outside of her
and cold air forces its way
past clenched throat
like a rape
and the pain of not being dead
not yet
is a more cruel blow
than the water smashing her face
a third time
swallowing her whole
a third time
till the only bells
ring with her pounding blood

seven faces
stone and hardwood
would seem kinder
open their single mouth

and curse
with a word

guilty

between water and
fire
bound in rope
there is only the remembering left to live
only the remembering

a husband dead
only young
men came at night
one by one
offering comfort
strong arms to hold back the
loneliness and night
and her skin crawled under their hands
and she vomited their words in their faces
till
five came
together
and showed their caring
one
after
another
and she bled
and wept
and shouted rage at the moon
that filled the screaming night
with light that captured
each animal face
in her mind
these men
who were never there that night
or any other night

and
her accusations
were called
a false curse
spiteful and envious
each man was at home
that night
in loving arms of wives
wives whose mouths were filled with
cold stones
that said she was
nothing
but a lying whore
excusing the dishonour of her husband's
fresh grave
the rounded proof her belly
but
their eyes hid
in dust
dust and shame
these women

the eyes of her seven judges
were not clouded
by dust
or shame
or pity even
flint sharp with fear
those eyes
and the hate and the
fervent vision
of the righteous
who stripped her to the waist
beat her
spat on her
led her through the town
taunted
laughed

bound to the ducking pole
rough rope
cruciform ridges
wood
and

water

seven months pregnant
a group of boys
too young to rape
threw stones at her body
some struck her face
and she fell
and bled
and bled
and

water

fourteen pieces of flint
were waiting for her
from the moment of her birth
when the cries of brothers
and sisters
cold in the hungry winter
nearly drowned the cries of her mother
were waiting for her from the moment
of her conception even
fourteen pieces of flint
waiting

and the fire
and the

water

running between her legs
soaking her shift
as she lay in a corner
choked back bile
and gave birth to a
still girl

water

encasing head
face
ears
throat
in a cold vice

water

dripping steadily on stone
smooth and cool
a cave in the hills
where she slept

water

she stumbled her way
moonlit again
to a cave above the town
and fell against it's walls
hidden from the night
and wishing
through dry cracking lips
that the earth could swallow her
whole
and leave only an echo in this mouth
and slept

and dreamed that she was drowning
her hands wrenched behind her back
her body aching and tired
and longing for the warmth of
fire

the first died
beneath the weight of a stone
fall
chasing a goat
that might have been his
she found him
lying
broken
dragged him free
straightened his limbs
and placed a stone
smooth
and cold
in his mouth
to be found a day later

righteousness

cold
but standing
her body wracked with cough
guilty by her survival
the drowning water seemed a safe place
not quite reached
snatched away

there was a stream
that washed her
with sand
and stone
and water
scrubbed her clean

and she lay
in the cool water
rushing
to wide low fields
green and rich
to the sea
greener
richer
than any field could be
waiting for her
in gentler dreams

sodden skirts
the high sun warming her now
she almost feels
alive
her body a curse of aching
as she is pushed
and led once more
through the town's narrow streets
the taunting voices more
frantic
insistent

a cold stone
choking his lifeless throat
like a lie

piled wood
waiting dryly for her
in a town filling already
with eager witness
a single stake
high above the heap
touches heaven
she shudders
stumbles
and falls
her face forced into the hard dirt
of the street
a booted foot
catches her breath
as it escapes her body
and she gasps
and chokes
and vomits pond water
into the street

righteousness

the next died
at the table
choking on food
till his face turned blue
and his eyes screamed for breath
when they laid his body out
they found
a single piece of potato
cold and hard as stone
in his mouth

hard
like a stone
like a lie
cold

dragged to her feet
her journey only short now
this narrow minded street
between water
and fire
left to live

water

rain fell
heavily
sullenly
on fresh turned soil
and crops
and fell
and fell
till there was only mud
and the rotting plants
smashed to the ground
and graves
fresh dug
wiped away like an ill memory

new
the sun warmed her
after the rains
safe and dry
in the hills
in her cave
removed

tying her hands once more
a new pole
there were no taunts
not now
only watchful frightened eyes
as a rough hand stretched
to yank a tighter rope
the man lost his footing
on the piled wood
fell forward
in an embrace
mumbled apologies
and stumbled back
to the crowd

two dead
crops destroyed
what there had been to destroy
a word
witch
hanging in the air
an unspoken assumption of guilt

so far away
free
the slow stirring anger below her
confusion and fear
so far away
so distant
as distant as the ringing bells

tied to her fate
the bells ring
to greet the priest
from a near
larger town
to sanctify her killing
the same man
the same bells
that marked her wedding
her widowing
her burning
the same man
the same bells

righteousness

when they came
together
they were more than five
she heard their loud and angry approach
tried to run
but the hill's flanks were still wet
and sly
with rain fallen
she stumbled
face forced into the muddy slope
they caught her there
bound her
and dragged her down the hill

seven faces
full of righteousness
and fear
and flint
where there should be eyes
seven men brought
from many towns
wise in the ways of witches
seven
men
full of flint
and no sorrow
no compassion
just the flint that choked their eyes

righteousness

water

fire

a spark
a spiral of smoke
this is the way a burning
begins

when the bells rang
at her wedding
she wept

as the fire takes
a stronger hold
the voiced crowd erupts
again
released by climbing flames
that will scorch and blister
not their body

but it is not
fire
that kills
but the clambering insidious smoke
that fills her eyes and nose
and mouth
with the hint of her own wood
burning
she gulps
and would cry out
but her throat is choked into silence
and as flame curtains her body
each voice there
is stilled
a moment
by a stone
like a lie
cold
and smooth
like a lie

smoke and ash
and ember
a sea bird
white and silver in the sun
fading
banks
and turns
to seek an ocean
in gentler dreaming

between water and fire
there is only the remembering left to live
before the water
brutality
after the fire
ashes
only the remembering
left.

epilogue

and in a shack
windswayed and tussock
there is an old woman
who remembers

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