Sit

By

Jackie Lopez Lopez

Margritte

Sit at my table, and tell me your glory.

I have prepared a banquet of many stars for you.

I wear my garments of poetry.

Please don’t go.

Sit.

Sit at my table, and show me those eyes.

I found a feather when I was homeless, and I called you.

I keep you in my thoughts throughout my journey here on Earth.

Last sunshine, I took a weekend to the moon.

I know you are sincerely a Baptist and you like to heal people.

Do you often capitulate to hearsay?

I heard you were a shaman, so,

I stole your books.

I felt redeemed at your parties.

I never stole anything in my life, although, books follow me.

Sit.

Sit at my table, and I promise not to lie to you:

You are my kin.

Let me serve you some kindness with some truth.

Let me give you a plate of ordeals.

Let me struggle out of this dress.

Let me kiss your breath.

My feet have walked 153, 000 lives, and I am tired.

Sit.

I will behave the lady, the priestess, the Goddess, the nymph, the mother, your sister, and your child.

But I am the crone.

The desert is my skin.

The knife is my heart.

The rivers are my hair.

And the oceans are my home.

I am your kin that asks you to sit at my table.

I have prepared a banquet of many stars for you.

Sit.

Let me see those eyes.