Bio Note: Back in the 1980s, listening to medieval music wasn't all that common in Phoenix but my musician wife used to play some of it and I became very interested in the culture of those distant times. I was still to become acclimatized to the desert, as I am now, so exploring mystics and others associated with the cathedrals I used to enjoy visiting when I lived in Europe was high on my list of things to do and to write about. Much has changed since then, and really old music is heard more often now. Good news for those of us who prefer desert quiet to pop culture noise!
Never blinking, Hildegard gazes at the parched earth in July, wishing she were a blade of grass on the aching hills. She faces the sun until her eyes evaporate and light floods the caves behind them. In her skull the wet walls turn to steam. The snake in her stomach uncoils and slips into a cooler skin while Hildegard tears her clothes. She pulls the sky toward her. The sun is a swarm of bees. She embraces the buzzing fires that carry her to a bed of thorns and ice.
Life Addresses Hildegard
Three hours from daylight, dressing for prayer, Hildegard confronts a golden figure. Life has locked the door and blown out all the candles. A voice is glowing in the cell: I am a mirror among stars, the stone at the core of the sun, the wind’s tongue, the nettles in your skin. I have framed your face in leaves and planted bindweed in your womb. Hildegard steels her cheek but Life merely runs a parting finger there and enters the coiling smoke.
©2020 David Chorlton
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF