The Spear Cuts Through Water

by Simon Jimenez

We were not ourselves anymore but each other, speaking through our bodies to a wounded and grieving land.

The body holds the body. The arms hold the spear. And the spear cuts through water.

Maybe he would move up, instead of down. Maybe he would be drawn up into the sky. Higher than even the mountain from which his family might’ve come. Wherever the warriors of Daware had once laid their claim. Living inside of a dark cloud above the land, as it swelled and thundered before the burst. Maybe he would be the sound of drums itself.

And this moonlit body smiles. And from the wings the patting of the drums slowly builds, and the curtains behind the dancers rise. Because you are right, this moonlit body tells you; this is indeed a love story. Down to the blade-dented bone.

somewhere your lola lights a cigarette in your honor, breathing deep the smoke, lungs like hot-air balloons lifted into an overcast sky, as the drums build, and build, and sound to you like rain.

To evaporate, until the body was ready to join where the spirit already was.

Above the trees. Where the stars dance and fall like failed incantations. That is where we end our tale. With the dancers leaping over the fire. And this moonlit body, bowing to you in thanks.