they have come
like warriors
an army
blackening the land
wheat and barley
vineyards
devouring every leaf and branch
until barren
withered like the fig tree
even the lotus plant
provides no shade
so she wanders
a bride veiled
soul-longing screened
from public view
the features upon her face
unnoticed expressions
like shrouded in burial cloths
what sword, if any, does
she wield beneath the folds
of her gown swaying
stained with dusty layers of film
(she thought
if she wore the symbol
she would be its meaning)
as the shadows descend
pillaging green plants
branches and shrubs
as all else hide behind
walls and windows and doors
she stands outside
like a leper
her flesh to be eaten
swarms and swirls
fury after fury
pass over her
for they perceive nothing
worth feasting on; nothing
but a rotting carcass
leafless trees
groan in the wind:
‘go inside precious daughter
it is not for milk or honey
but for you
one of us will repay
what the locusts have eaten’
for Dr. Grace May and her evening prayer
