KEIRA LYNN DODD

The Promise

 

Where I live,
you are dark and cold,
a breathless cave
that has swallowed the night,

only I am formless,
a thought suspended,
and you drown me black—

one raven dead,
cast on a mountain of ribs,
in a shadowy corner
I feel more than see.

(The raven means a me
that has passed
through God.)

Now I am not
what was
any more than you are
what is. 

There is light 
outside this cave,
but the moon
has gone inside,
and the sun
drips tears.

(I have chosen
to plant in the dark
a thing that needs light.)

It is not safe
to whistle
at the dawn,
to crowd the forest
with words
that outlast the trees. 

But the cave holds forever
like a breath,
and you promise
the return of day
born again, here
in my womb.