Three Poems by Aleah Sato

 

My Baptism

 

We wait at the edge of the water.

The fat preacher is up to his waist –

He motions the first girl to him.

Our toes sink

into mud, beer cans,

old fishing line.

My father watches.

I can’t see my mother.

She has done this before,

the year I was born –

her swollen belly barely

consumed by the water.

I was the first child in a line of 5

and I will be the first to meet God.

Here in the river,

my small white hands,

like two albino fish,

fight to keep from drifting.

I can’t pay attention to the words.

I pull on my dress ribbons waiting.

The girl before me cries softly –

She is afraid of water and the preacher.

A hymn breaks between dunkings.

I am next. I walk out

to meet those hands.

I am not afraid. It is just water.

 

 

 

The Woods

This is where the lightning touched

the surface – Memory works like this,

without commitment, without oaths

taken before God or men,

without the burden of truth.

We walked together for a time.

The trees bloomed and

everywhere there was life

singing out to dusk.

But now we walk

like the defeated,

past arbors and roots,

into the snowdrifts.

Words get lost here.

Intention was fine for a time,

but truth opened us

up, revealed the rot.

We were children then.

We had to believe that the earth

was spinning by God’s myth.

We rattled the bones,

threw the birds into the hereafter,

expecting them to return.

 

 

 

 

Becoming an Angel

 

First, you put down your pistol

and untie the woolly creature.

She has blood in her eyes.

You wipe her clean and give her

a look of glass and fire.

She will not forget your mercy.

Then you must burn all your books.

They are full of hate and necessity.

You are too much in the air to be filled

with the poison of philosophers.

When this has been done,

bathe in an elixir made of baby’s breath

and milk.

Make sure everything leaves you

in a last gasp

of normalcy.

When you are clean,

call your mother.

Tell her you walk on water

and no longer need her to hold you

to the earth.

Tell your friends you are spirit

and memory.

Tell them if they call your name,

you will not respond.

Tell them you are beyond the blue.

When they leave

and you are alone –

take the pistol

and look into the fragile Heaven.

 

 

 

 

Aleah Sato is a marketing manager and co-owner of Ricksticks Inc, a visual communications firm in Toronto. She is the author of the recently released book Badlands and the forthcoming Stillborn Wilderness (Pooka Press 2007). Her work has appeared in Nthposition, Adirondack Review, juked, Just West of Athens, Blue Fifth Review and Eclectica. She can be reached through her site: www.aleahsato.com.

 

 

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