Part of the Euphates River that runs through Syria.

Euphrates' Child  (revised 2.07)

Wrapped in the moth-eaten garments of my youth
I slept on the banks of my mother, Euphrates.
Upon her sweet and fruitful bosom I dreamt,
gems of amber grain spilling from out the thresholds
of mud shelters swollen with plenty.
Beneath the sorcery of the heavens
I drifted in my fancy near the savage spit of flame
as it shaped the will of the bronze,
harkening back to hum of the potter’s wheel
I had passed in the marketplace.

As my father’s light opened above the Tigris
unfolding the day between the two shores,
I stirred, as bleat my brothers and sisters,
they whose warm blanket I had pressed in the dark.
From the softness of their pillow,
I rose to tend, with reverence, the flock who clothed me,
provided my sustenance.
Knowing still, it would come to pass . . . as surely as each year’s flood,
that on this day ordained, upon the banks
of Ur to the slaughter, I would walk my sheep,
that mine should eat,
that mine should be cloaked,
and that, for this, I would give thanks
washing my hands in the mouth the rivers.

I thirsted
before I traveled,
and waded into the mother, who offered cool drink;
I threw her water against my cheeks.
Abandoning my flock
I closed my eyes to her sweetness, her caress seducing my meditation.
Her tongue lapped about my ankles,
and I swayed, rippling, her movement intruding upon my senses.

~ I am here, child. Ever here, child,
under your feet. You walk on me with enchanted eyes.
I remain, bottom waters vigilant, muddied with the first and the last.
I spill onto your valley, upon the son, onto the daughter.

The father’s light is held fast, child. Held steady
above my constant shores. Even diminished,
I remain, my joy, my grief, washing the bitters of your vengeance.
But, I rejoice in the eternal,
binding your feet to rock deep within my waters.
Virtue will not wend, prudence will not pass beyond my shores.~

Opening my eyes, I was blinded by the embrace of the father
shimmering upon the river's surface.
Newly made, an immortal babe, bound by decree,
I stood upon waters made clear,
and saw cradled in her soft bottom,
the stone to which I was joined.

Ever wakeful,
I have stood the centuries, watching
the river carry the sins of Babylon upon her back.
Weary and sick,
I have covered my nose with a ragged sleeve
at the stench of belly-bloated enemies washed ashore,
spewing from my own stomach their intrusive bile.
I have numbered an endless drift of bone . . . and gold,
book and song, geometry and sheep
half buried in the silt . . .

But I remain, absolute,
my ankles shackled to the depths of the Euphrates,
longing for the resurrection of her kiss.
A phantom of the millennia. . . I await my release.



*****

original

Euphrates' Child

In the moth-eaten garments of my youth
I slept on the banks of my mother Euphrates.
Upon her sweet and fruitful bosom I dreamt,
dreams of amber grain spilling from thresholds
of mud huts swollen with plenty.
Beneath the sorcery of the heavens
I drifted in my night fancy near the angry spit of the flame
as it shaped the will of the bronze,
and heard the same hum of the potter’s wheel
I had passed in the marketplace.

As my father’s light rose above the Tigris
provoking the day between the two shores,
I stirred at the bleating of my brothers and sisters,
whose warm blanket I pressed through the dark...
From the softness of their pillow,
I rose to tend, in reverence, they who clothed me,
provided my sustenance.
And so it would come to pass . . . as surely as the floods,
that on this day of my youth,
to Ur for the slaughter, I would bring sheep,
that we should eat,
that we should be cloaked,
and that, for this, we would give thanks to the river.

I thirsted.
before I traveled,
wading into the mother I took a cool drink,
and threw her water against my cheeks.
Closing my eyes,
I heard her sing to me.

~ I am here, my child. Ever here, my child,
under your feet. You walk on me with enchanted eyes.
I remain,
my bottom waters vigilant, muddied with the first and the last
that I spill onto your valley, my son, my daughter.

The father’s light is held fast, child. Held fast
above these constant shores, even diminished,
I remain,
my joy, tainted by the salt of your grief. But rejoice,
to a rock deep within my waters, I have bound your feet . ~

I was blinded, as I opened my eyes,
by the embrace of the father
upon the surface of my mother.
Newly made, an immortal babe,
bound by her decree,
I stood upon waters made clear,
and saw cradled in her soft bottom,
the stone to which I was joined.

So, I have stood the centuries, watching
the river carry the sins of Babylon upon her back.
Weary and sick,
I have covered my nose with a ragged sleeve
at the stench of belly-bloated enemies washed ashore,
spewing from my own stomach their intrusive bile.
I have numbered an endless drift of bone . . . and gold,
book and song, geometry and sheep
half buried in the silt . . .

But I remain,
my ankles shackled to the depths of the Euphrates,
awaiting the resurrection of her kiss.
A phantom of the millenniums . . . I await my release.


jeanne rené 12/04