Dancing with the Gods

Once on a large ship, somewhere
between England and Ireland,

I was lifted, out of the blue, by a god—
not the father, nor his son, the one symbolized by a fish

but by one of the ancient ones, crowned
with the vigorous vine, a friend to women,

a lover of wine and song who picked me
up in a sudden gale, carried me aloft,

then dropped me (or did he lose me
like a storm that ran its course?)

in a valley along the Pacific coast.
It was a hard fall. Bruised all over,

I forswore him and his mad’ning swings, found
succor at the shrine of his genteel brother

whose lyre music and reasoned views
helped me heal, restart my life. All of which

I hold in high esteem. Still, temple work
(the mountain air so clear, so rarefied) turned

into another fantastic flight. This time I rode
a magic carpet, laughing as if

I were one of the boys. Such fun
never lasts. Another harsh landing.

Now what?          Listen: faint notes—
A summons? From this grove above the glen?

Such reedy sounds! Are these
eyes glowing in the dark, a beard—a cloven hoof?

I heard of him: Earthbound, hairy, wild,
furtive as a deer, rutty as a goat.

He is rustic at best. Still, he offers
his own kind of revels. He hides,

yet, wants to be seen. He knows,
oh, he knows: how I long to be

swept off my feet again, blown
away, reeled into another high-flown jig.

I sway, reed-like, between desire
and distrust. Can I rise above

his rough hide, his ill repute,
do I dare to dance with him—

this third, this most unseemly, this ancient
of the ancient gods? Who doesn’t mind

his shape, who loves his flesh! Is unabashed.
In my sunset years, it’s him who with his chimes

charms me into a different pas de deux: he twirls me,
releases me, then pulls me back into his arms

to raise me high above his head. And always, always
lets me gently down. Thus, we romp around the central fire.

Brigitte Goetze lives in Western Oregon. A retired biologist and angora goat farmer, she now divides her time between writing and fiber work; in either case she spins her own yarns. Links to recent publications can be found at: brigittegoetzewriter.com.

Willawaw Journal

Share
Published by
Willawaw Journal

Recent Posts

Notes from the Editor

Dear Reader, Who knew that a can-can dancer from the posters of Toulouse Lautrec would…

1 month ago

Rick Adang

Eternal Return A crocus from the rotting flesh of a hedgehog, placed with the pansies…

1 month ago

Shawn Aveningo-Sanders

Full Moon at Montmartre Claudette’s a can-can girl high-kickin’ it under the red windmill. She…

1 month ago

Frank Babcock

In the Light of Peace --painting by Bruce King of the Oneida Nation The travelers…

1 month ago

Louise Cary Barden

A Quad of Golden Shovels Internal Conversation at the beginning of Winter Wet and beautiful…

1 month ago