1.
To explain—as if she could!—
She says: When I was young
And passing fair and strong
Like a girl in a fairy tale,
I ran from God and angels.
I flew to the dark powers
—Though they aren’t dark but seeming-light,
With glamour on them like the fey—
And I frisked with the demons on the hills,
Then curled to sleep against their thighs,
A wing along my bow-bent spine.
I woke, dappled with dew.
And found that they had picked
Me clean of clothes and more,
Treasures dear to me.
I was bereft.
I was: weakness.
All-conquering.
The rains
Began.
2.
She says:
Rain is rain is rain.
This was no rain but light,
Or not light but arrowy
Fine peltings of a fire
Shot slantwise through the skin
Until I could not tell
What was me from rain
Or light, and river waves
Not-rain-or-light-or-fire
Swamped me until I drowned
And washed into the sea,
To drift with sailor boys
Past luminous weeds and fish
To the roots of the world.
3.
Don’t ask her any more
What Southern means,
Or why we just can’t quit
Mulling over a tale
Of rum and slaves and gold.
She married powers of dark.
She burned in bright rivers.
That’s why.