On my Wedding-Night
I found my eyes sewn tight
Until I spoke dark sayings in your name.
Black-winged, I rose above the flames
That ate my Bridegroom whole.

It lightninged white and chilled.
My twisted Child-Bride's sword
Plummets to the kill. Black sparks roar
And sting, and towering, they soar
Far above the White Mare on the Hill.

Fired in nutmeg, aloes, and sweet myrrh
My hair clove through green earth.
A white scarab beetle played
My Bridegroom lay
In the midst of That Place
Which Scorches Mindlessly.

He was consumed.

I buried my face in the ashes
Still warm beside me.

© 1976, Carin Perron
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