Conversation with a Mountain God, Sicily 2098

CONVERSATION WITH A MOUNTAIN GOD, SICILY 2098 

by Morgan L. Ventura

Content warning: Conquest, grief, extraction

I am a thousand violent geologies. Vibrant, I rise
across thick-smoked horizons.

My soul’s a fruit rind of light, fragrant with desire. I know
no house; the home of my youth       lies in pieces.
I was born         in one place
and will die in another.

Inside my heart, goats chew on cactus fruit and creamy blossoms.
Extinction knocks on my door, fortune is forged from my veins. 

I mistake keys for love 
and love for possession. To atone for what’s taken, I pray 
to another god, indifferent to your dazzling presence.
How you soar through centuries and           slice sky!

A magnolia can be a stone. Your tongue is the bridge to the
Otherworld. You will unbury yourself despite death’s sentence. 

I forgot how to speak to my ancestors 
until a robin ravaged my garden. My father broke his promises, 
but I am not my father. 

You must return to the soil.

Earth’s a furious graveyard, but, O! 
how my bones will rise.