The slayer and the slain
The knife, high-poised above the stone,
the crowd, the priest, the tribal dream,
the sun in silence, then the scream,
a roar, a prayer, a mother’s groan.
A wooden cross against the sky,
the spear upheld; at last the doubt:
the thunderclap, the sudden shout,
a soldier’s laugh, a mother’s cry.
The legs drawn back, the flesh is torn,
the head appears between the thighs;
the baby shrieks, the mother sighs,
the slayer and the slain is born.