Sunday, May 15, 2011
Dove Black Sky
Note: in my April 9th post, "Dust", the Queen Of The Vampires was gravely injured by a vampire hunter. Her story continues here.
To be a cat in a poppy field
Is not such a bad thing.
(No matter that it is a hallucination.
No matter that a vampire hunter's attack has put her there, teetering...)
Rasputin sits with the Queen Of The Vampires, who lies still amid the red blooms in her favorite illusionary black panther form.
His tunic is dirty and frayed.
A Russian cross sits on his chest, suspended from a leather thong,
Like God's emblem in a stirrup.
"немного один" he whispers, cradling her soft ear in his giant hand. "Little One."
His love is like a warm samovar--
The vampire hunter is dead,
Flat as a pancake in a Target parking lot.
Some saw a large vehicle,
A lightning strike from a blue sky.
Others report the miracle of black doves,
Carrying tiny bells in their feet,
You might find it strange that a staretz--
A wandering holy man, and long-dead besides--
Should treat a Vampire Queen so tenderly.
They both know what it means to be lost.
They both know that church spires, whether onion-domed or not,
Rise up like smoke above the sinful world.
The Queen Of The Vampires opens her eyes.
Her head, her ebony-haired human head, is resting on the Dark Haired Chick's thigh
In a pristine, untorn booth
At Danny's Coffee Shop.
She is looking down at the Dark Haired Chick's boot.
There is grit on the heel,
As if from a newly-resurfaced chain store space.
The QOTV's lips curl in a smile,
Imagining her sitting, waiting, watching the rear view mirror and making up fabulously creative--
And shockingly obscene--
Pet names for the people honking at her, coveting her spot.
Now the QOTV will recover.
Now she will remember,
She is Queen and all her powers will return;
But she will carry Rasputin in her heart,
And the poppies,
As well as a new white streak in her hair
Like an opium dream
In a dove black sky.
for One Shoot Sunday.
top photograph by Fee Easton