I’ve
had a few requests for some Buddy updates, so I’m going to try to get a
mid-week Buddy “newsletter” out at some point over the next few days. (Sneak Preview:
dead rats and butcher paper.) Until then, here is a sestina I wrote about the
Hanged Man, one of the major arcana cards in the Tarot. It’s a little heavy for
a hot, sunny Memorial Day weekend, but what the heck.
Sestina for the Hanged
Man
This
is a process of voluntary surrender.
In
return for his sacrifice, The Hanged Man gains
Not
illumination, but a lust for the divine.
The
tree of sacrifice is living wood, its bounds
Of
vines a comfort creature, offering
The
mute counsel of its long decay.
This
is a process of accepting the decay.
In
return for his sacrifice, he will surrender
All
that was given him in offering,
The
sun-dulled dream of his fevered gains.
He
has offered himself to these loving bounds.
Inverted,
he sings for the divine.
This
is a process of mourning the divine.
His
bones know the journey of their own decay
He
has witnessed the failure of our pious bounds
And
the humid medicine of surrender.
In
his dumb rebellion, The Hanged Man gains
The
imitation of god, but never an offering
This
is a process of refusing Earth’s offering.
The
Hanged Man waits for the divine.
He
has not accounted for his carnal gains.
He’s
at ease with the relics of decay,
And
the cost of every drab surrender.
His
renouncement knows no bounds.
This
is a process of mastering the bounds.
The
Hanged Man knows the value of an offering
He
is ecstatic in his surrender.
He
is entranced by the divine.
Forgive
me, Hanged Man: I’ve trafficked in decay;
With
no respect for my blessed gains.
This
is a process of extinguishing the gains.
His
grief cinches tighter than his bounds.
The
Tree of Sacrifice weakens with decay
And
the Hanged Man triples his offering
To
the silent, warm divine.
He
has set the terms of his surrender.
And
what’s to become of his sweet decay? I have no prophecy in offering,
Nothing
to show for my earthly gains. No means of unfastening my bounds.
I
too, am dazed by the mute Divine. I too, am listless in surrender.
--Kristen McHenry
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