Tantalising as an enigma,
seemingly arid, exhausted earth,
weathered away to shanks of stone,
geology's calcified mammoth bones,
puts forth rivers of oil
that begin as drops
from winter's bitter fruit,
stripped from unassuming groves
with leaves grey as the eyes Athena,
goddess, patroness of olives,
turned on them in antiquity;
fruit as bitter as Herakles,
homeless in the Peloponnese,
dark as the thoughts
of thwarted deities…
It is not a good omen
to dream of oil,
tradition avers in Greece;
it can change its state
before you wake,
become a brine-filled klepsydra
and drown you,
as honey held on the tongue
can curdle, tasting of hemlock,
bile or yarrow;
gardenia perfume
spring an ambush,
evoking suffocating sorrow…
Enigmatic states
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2006
Свидетельство о публикации №106111800931
Свидетельство о публикации №106111800931
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