By Greta Ross
Unmask us
the shadows taunt me
as one by one the stars blacken
and a cracked moon
points the way to Xibalba’s pit.
Half blind
in the flickering dark
I hear the Maya gods chittering,
so veil my face with raven wings,
bind my head with henbane
and speak your name in signs,
then steal to the boiling river’s edge
where you my love are waiting
bearing your salvaged soul.
Black bat wings rise
as you display your haul from hell:
a skull ablaze with its crown of fire,
black pus milked from devil bites,
ice masks from the hall of blizzards,
and the bag of your gathered bones.
I want none of these.
But you continue to speak in haste
of those gored with stakes
through groin and heart
mouths and eyes nailed open
tongues pungent with blood,
in the final halls of grief and death.
A vampire shriek
slashes at your throat as you
thrust me your gift and dissolve
in pixels as Camazotz swoops
and hollows you out.
Your gift, your soul quivers
like a naked newborn child,
so I clasp it close to my heart
and run to the light, your essence
softly singing at my breast.