Darkness weighs
\nabout seventeen kilograms per unit.
\nIt tastes like salt and iron.
\nI have held it and tasted it.
\nBelieve me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The feel of darkness varies.
\nSome days it has the consistency
\nof cold molasses,
\nother days the granular feel
\nof wet sand.
\nI have carried it many days.
\nBelieve me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It is possible to cut darkness into pieces
\nand put it under your pillow.
\nThis will ensure a deep and instant sleep.
\nBut this is a waste of darkness.
\nBelieve me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Instead, cut your darkness into wafers
\nand place one on your tongue.
\nLet the wafer dissolve, just like a communion.
\nYou will have visions.
\nYou will travel inside.
\nBelieve me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You will have visions of a slow and lonely past
\nwhere there were many hungers
\nand your soul was robbed clean.
\nYou will remember how you were
\nshattered and broken
\nbeyond the word for hurt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And when you see that despite this
\nyou are whole and you are magnificent,
\nthen you will begin to admire
\nthe darkness that made you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You will stroke its sleek panther hide,
\npractise its prowling, sexy walk
\nand fill your throat with
\nits deep and dangerous purr.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You will find that you can see in the dark
\nusing only your fingertips
\nand the soles of your feet,
\nand you will find yourself
\ndancing a slow, fierce flamenco
\nof light and dark
\nwhere each in turn
\nleads the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And so we mine ourselves for blackness
\nduring the long white nights.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We burn her in our fire pits and she gives us heat
\nShe gives us the heat that warms our marrow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We wrap our souls inside her like infants in a blanket
\nBlackness is the ballast that holds us to the ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She moves across the earth, an implacable wind
\nShe is the key to our freedom, the moment of escape
\nShe quenches our fatigue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She is basalt solid rhythm rooted in earth
\nShe laps at the edges of day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And when it is time to honour her pact with ashes It was we three walking, The brother of Jesus works hard His few friends are not disciples. Walking home drunk Wine filled, swaying Jesus looks so small there \u2013 The brother of Jesus watches with awe, <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Communion Darkness weighs about seventeen kilograms per unit. It tastes like salt and iron. I have held it and tasted it. Believe me. The feel of darkness varies. Some days it has the consistency of cold molasses, other days the granular feel of wet sand. I have carried it many days. Believe me. It is […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":4902,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3760","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue27\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3760","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue27\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue27\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue27\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue27\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3760"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue27\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3760\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5329,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue27\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3760\/revisions\/5329"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue27\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4902"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue27\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3760"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue27\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3760"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue27\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3760"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nshe surrenders our names and relinquishes our bodies
\nshe relinquishes our bodies to dust. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\nGlossolalia<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\nsinging across the city,
\nspinning the world beneath our feet.
\nWe were smaller then,
\nour figures enviable,
\nyouth cascading,
\na rush of waters down our backs.
\nWe loved our women,
\nwe loved our men,
\nbut passion was our talk \u2013
\nwe spoke in tongues,
\ngiving the ancestors voice,
\ntrying to understand
\ntheir songs and silences.
\nIn trying we baffled the long pavements,
\njoyous, we baffled ourselves. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\nThe Brother of Jesus<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\nAnd walks head down,
\nFists inside his pockets.
\nThe water in his cup slakes his thirst
\nBut does not make him drunk.
\nThe loaves of bread he brings home for his children
\nDivide but do not multiply.
\nHe preaches no sermons,
\nNot on the mount,
\nOr anywhere else that matters.
\nHe can barely get his own children to hear him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nHe sits with them in dark taverns where
\nThey discuss the wiles of women,
\nThey discuss their varied assets
\nAnd ways to unveil and bed them.
\nThey bet on camels and drink away
\nA good portion of what they earn.
\nThey mock his brother Jesus,
\nSo earnest, so sincere,
\nAnd it seems, apparently,
\nNot at all afraid to die.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nThe brother of Jesus remembers games
\nWith balls made out of leather.
\nHe remembers raiding beehives
\nAnd making soldiers out of clay.
\nHe remembers quarrels over
\nWho should shovel piles of steaming sheep dung.
\nHe remembers fighting in the red dirt
\nOver the last piece of kanafeh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nAnd doomed to life,
\nHe sometimes stands alone
\nAt the edges of crowds
\nWho mob his lightning brother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nSo brown, so bright, so brave, so young
\nSo breakable and so alone \u2013
\nDespite the worshipping crowds
\nWho surround him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nWith pity and with pride,
\nWith envy and also gnawing fear,
\nAnd stumbling away the brother of Jesus
\nShakes his own dark head,
\nUnaware of the faint glow
\nThat surrounds him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n