Esther Consorts with Hegai
Such wisdom: you taught my hips
to shimmy, my ankles jostle in exotic shells,
my breasts in rivulets of ribbons.
I unwind sheer scarves to play
in perfumed rhythms across my face.
I’ve learned to bind my hair with pearls,
my arms with silver bands, ears ring
with ruby chains, belly lace with amethyst.
You’ve shown me how to pull
the sapphire silk from back to thigh,
thread purple satin soft between my legs
and snap it in the air.
And now you say, forget such things,
my beauty is sufficient?
You see in me a richness born
of some strange history, a meeting
of the heavens that adornment merely
mars. You say go to him, proud King
of Persia, empty the virgins’ tapestry
upon his bed, and nothing in it?
We’ll have a joke at least. And then,
you say, remember who I am,
my mother’s lineage, natural star.
I will remember the smell of rain
on sand, I bend like the rushes
in the shallows of brooks. My hair
folds across my back like fronds
across a cloud. All those things I knew
as a child return – the washing of feet,
pomegranates succulent and bright,
the offering of grapes in sunlight, leaves
softened in a moon of oil of olive,
the perfect eggs of pheasants
delighting even a bower of grass,
the flutter of yellow birds
winding through evening cattails
like some embroidery all their own.
When he takes me to him, it will be
the way I lift my face to desert rain
to catch the drops upon my tongue, palms
open to the splash, the wonder of G-d
free for the taking.
to shimmy, my ankles jostle in exotic shells,
my breasts in rivulets of ribbons.
I unwind sheer scarves to play
in perfumed rhythms across my face.
I’ve learned to bind my hair with pearls,
my arms with silver bands, ears ring
with ruby chains, belly lace with amethyst.
You’ve shown me how to pull
the sapphire silk from back to thigh,
thread purple satin soft between my legs
and snap it in the air.
And now you say, forget such things,
my beauty is sufficient?
You see in me a richness born
of some strange history, a meeting
of the heavens that adornment merely
mars. You say go to him, proud King
of Persia, empty the virgins’ tapestry
upon his bed, and nothing in it?
We’ll have a joke at least. And then,
you say, remember who I am,
my mother’s lineage, natural star.
I will remember the smell of rain
on sand, I bend like the rushes
in the shallows of brooks. My hair
folds across my back like fronds
across a cloud. All those things I knew
as a child return – the washing of feet,
pomegranates succulent and bright,
the offering of grapes in sunlight, leaves
softened in a moon of oil of olive,
the perfect eggs of pheasants
delighting even a bower of grass,
the flutter of yellow birds
winding through evening cattails
like some embroidery all their own.
When he takes me to him, it will be
the way I lift my face to desert rain
to catch the drops upon my tongue, palms
open to the splash, the wonder of G-d
free for the taking.
March / April 2023
Carol Barrett coordinates the Creative Writing Certificate Program at Union Institute & University. She has published two volumes of poetry and one of creative nonfiction. Carol’s creative work appears in such diverse venues as JAMA, The Women’s Review of Books, Nimrod, and Poetry International. She has also published scholarly articles in the fields of women’s studies, psychology, gerontology, education, and dance and art therapy. A former NEA Fellow in Poetry, she has lived in nine states and in England.
Art: Aiyana Masla. Woods Quiet Together. Watercolor