Sacred Pastiche

You have a corpse in the car….Take me to it ~ Winston Wolf, Pulp Fiction

I usually pontificate

and justify

why I am stuck here,

mud sucking at my feet.

The opening is blocked by

sticks and stones, and a nest

of earth and grasses beneath them.

Calling in the fixer, we put on

waders, enter the marsh

filled with debris: one white

hand reaching out.

Like Winston Wolf, she says,

“If I’m curt with you, it’s because

time is a factor.  I think fast,

I talk fast, and I need you

to act fast.”  So we pull up

the corpse, and the next

hastily buried crime victim,

tuning in to a rape, 

a miscarriage, the death

of a twin.  A wife’s need to escape

and a husband who refuses

to hear her.  An oblivious mother

and her devastated daughter.

An enraged man shaking 

a woman, ah, god, her aching neck.

A story about needing to leave

a toxic place.  Carefully laid plans

brutally destroyed.  The bodies

pile up on the shore

like limbs that won’t fit

in the grate.  All of these indigestible

moments of trauma postponed

feeling until now. 

I finally can tell you

this is too much to carry.

I must retrieve each and

expose it to the light.

It will soon be time to pack

so I clean

and scrub each bone

bleaching in the sun

sacred disintegrating. 

I’m ready to travel

to the next level

of my awakening.

A new balance emerges:

slower than a snail’s crawl,

I finally digest 

this unholy mess.

Inspired by: Captivate, Balance, Pontificate

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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