The Cleft
The orange of the insides of the branch—
an orange like tequila mixed with blood—
it radiated up from where that limb
lay open in the February rain,
a rain whose leaden gravity made all
surrounding colours not just deep, but abysmal.
Yet in that sinking scene there shone this seam
of lava where the branch exposed its shock
of ochre. And as if recognised, I turned
my face away and hurried past; except
the limb was already set before my mind’s
eye. And like a serpent measuring
herself against her prey, it pressed its cleft
against the cleft in my identity—
the line between the self who seeks a hand
to raise me up; and the hand that drags me down.
That "Yet" is a tremendous pivot. I like how this new tentative world of "hope" retains the sinister edges of the old world. The colors you give us are so vivid, too, particularly the "tequila mixed with blood." Bravo, Huck!
This is beautifully evocative, Huck. I see the alchemy in your words and symbolisms, the cleft a catalyst for exploration of the psyche. I love alchemy (I write drawing on alchemical references) and love how you presented the transformative process here.