Cinnabar
To the agate slices,
the quartz that symbolised love and tranquillity,
she added cinnabar, source of the pigment vermilion,
the colour Tibetan monks wear,
a soul-colour, surely.
Keep it in a box,
the man in the shop said.
There was a thrill
at having something dangerous
and yet so beautiful
there in her house.
It was like possessing a dormant snake.
Don’t sleep too near it,
the man said.
So she imagined sleeping too near it.
It would lull her.
Her dreams would be eerier than usual,
played out against gaslight.
Waking, she would fine her snout in place,
itching towards the pampas.
Page(s) 49
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