the brokenhearted qadishtu* {napowrimo '11, #8}

who heals the healer when she breaks?

they say the wives
envy us.

well, i envy the wives.

all this sacrifice.
morphing our bodies into shrines,
enduring the glares of the so called civilized...
for what?
we appease a spirit we never see.

i have seen Her.
once, the radiance of Her smile
saturated my dreams,
granting gifts many never realize.

but now
i'm not so sure
this isn't just an elaborate farce.

i believed...
before he came.

a beautiful man with Her sweet smile
and sad eyes
he begged for help,
weeping on the hem of my skirt.

my heart filled
as it always did with sincere seekers.

for months,
i cradled and taught him;
raised his energy,
fed his soul...
all so he could plant a seed
in his wife's womb.

he spoke of her often.
(the only words of his i ignored)
i used every trick i knew--
and some i said i never would--
to make him mine,
but his heart stayed with her,
no matter what his body said to me.

and when it was time,
he left,

i was fine
in my anticipatory denial
until the day his woman entered the sanctuary,
resplendent with new life,
daring...to give...thanks.

i promptly destroyed my rooms.
i would have gone for the altar,
but i wasn't completely mad...yet.
so i contented myself
with demolishing the last alabaster jar.

why was my love only meant
for the intangible,
the unseen?

what is my reward?
where is my solace?

in desperation,
i ran to the sea
and wept in it.

She pulsed,
but remained silent.

where were Her abundant arms?

in Her infinite mercy,
why didn't She come
and swallow me up?


that's when my heart shattered
and my magic turned against me...
i lost all my senses;
the light of Her love went out.

my prayers became empty ministrations;
my blessings vapid.

i will remain faithless
the rest of my days.


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