Martine Bellen

Dearest,

In the summer of 365, when the sea withdrew in Cyprus
And stone was spewed from the living earth,
Young parents cradled their offspring in burning flesh and Tenderness. The father, arching
Like a pediment, sheltered his wife
From entombing mortar. His arms shielding her
Breasts. The supple flesh of their four hands
Protecting baby’s skull and spine. Snapped neck, wing
Bone clipped. How heroic and fragile
They are, stilled for eternity before dawn.

This morning, the sun streaks magenta and tangerine.
A deep calm stifles the earth.
When you withdrew, stone and fire were hurled
Into the heavens, torn asunder. So fragile
Are tendon, synapse, which plait and protect
Love. The hard parts that fossilize, soft
Parts vaporize, like shadow-remnants of a nuclear storm. Buried memories quake. My love, what is left
This daybreak as we rise in the quiet
And safety of our shelters?

As ever,




Finding my way back from the underworld.