To Shakti

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I have seen you sometimes,
a yellow sky wrapped around you
your face beautiful as a cyclone,
glowering at the salty rim of the horizon

or wreaking havoc at the beach
tearing up arms and legs, tossing them to sea
faster than any wave can catch.

At the temple, I catch a glimpse
of your face, obscure and absurdly smiling.
It is not how I pictured it.
The priest waves me on. Outside
a gaggle of beggars, upturned hands
like neatly unfurling buds

and a million stone steps
which I walk with crystal feet
praying my ceaseless prayer:

You of the unfailing memory,
give me the strength to forget.

*First published in Yellow Medicine Review.

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Tags: god, Poetry, temples, worship