Muses for Kebret
In the sharp polarized light,
an old friend whispers,
two red-haired monsters sit at
the far end of the bed,
you peer around; your breath
denies calm.
The woman in your ward
is a torture;
she walks in
on a head,
two legs sticking up in the air— you
watch in the spirit
of windmills and giants.
You wonder why
things get so dangerous;
a pile of grey clouds
rumbles at the floor of your head.
Last night you sat up
to yell at a female
devil that wears
a bold moustache,
no wonder a sea of slim devils came
peeling off your skin
with their wiry tails.
Today, darkness
looms in the room, packed masses
roll, fill the earth and flatten your body.
A woman in white,
though dangerous, runs in for rescue,
but you can’t leave
things this way.
Note: this piece on trauma/hallucination was inspired by a page in Sahle Sellassie’s Firebrands.