Mexican Codex 16th Century
Those with obsidian blades
imagine the gods hungry.
How else to justify whet-stones,
the time spent honing
each avid edge? That the gods
might want nothing
cannot be thought, for that
would leave them as naked
as any would-be lover, their cut
flowers wilting in their hands.
This poem was written as part of the ekphrastic Halloween poetry challenge.
Devon Balwit writes in Portland, OR. She has five chapbooks out or forthcoming: How the Blessed Travel (Maverick Duck Press); Forms Most Marvelous (dancing girl press); In Front of the Elements(Grey Borders Books), Where You Were Going Never Was (Grey Borders Books); and The Bow Must Bear the Brunt (Red Flag Poetry). More of her individual poems can be found here as well as in The Cincinnati Review, The Stillwater Review, Red Earth Review, The Inflectionist; Glass: A Journal of Poetry; Noble Gas Quarterly; Muse A/Journal, and more.
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