lament
looking down at his village, the chief let out a sigh.
today is the day
he dooms
one
to
die.
the festivities end, the crowd gathers near,
waiting to know who is chosen this year.
he clears his throat, it appears to be caught–
he clears it again, his tongue in a knot.
“who is it?” they ask, they’re getting impatient.
you will have to tell them, let’s face it.
in the crowd is a girl, he knows her by name.
everyone does, this girl’s one of acclaim.
she’s known for her antlers, her smile, her eyes.
she’s known as the one
they say
fell
from
up
high.
she tells of white stars and seas of blue.
such strange things to say, yet she says they are true.
to them he speaks her name, his voice filled with dread.
it seems she has a lot more falling ahead.
he looks up to the ceiling, stalactites above town,
hardly holding back
the water
dripping
down.
then a shout from below, the chief looks to see,
through the moving crowd, the little girl flees.
how scared she must be, to make such a dash.
who would not act so, if sentenced to be ash?
he did not yet know, but through his tears,
he’d be the last to see her for years.
where had she gone? This cavern does not span far.
perhaps she found a new
home
in
those
stars.