San Miguel
By John Eisner
what convergence of wind, blood
and dust has formed almost in
my image and settled here
what ancient ritual of sorrowful
beauty and exquisite pain reflected
in this molten sky am I here
to witness
like a grand inquisitor’s daughter
i walk treeless cobblestone streets
trailed by narrow high curbed sidewalks
decomposing granite arches frame
windowed eyes that blinking
through wrought iron lashes,
shelter souls within from a neighbor’s stare
A splash of green, the sound of cascading water
a canary’s song ends as a wormed
wood door slams shut. what rites of passage
were given birth to within. whose sun drenched
smile and first steps sounded on the thickness
of courtyard pavers, when dancing drums
and chants lifted the yoke of endless darkness.
A torn moon haunts its kingdom of stars
as I watch from my roof the
final embers of a long day’s fiesta.
Church bells, now still, are
deafening in their silence
a roof dog voices a forgotten bark
as darkness lifts her skirts to the coming dawn
John Eisner, a builder, raised two children with his wife Maureen on the Island in the 1970s. Recently returned from 3½ years in Mexico, he now lives year-round in Chilmark.
