Spring 1986, Volume 3
Poetry

Gloria Z Wurst
Sacrifice

Ebony eyes fix on me.
Like richest velvet, they take the light
and refuse to give it back,
An endless stare,
jewels set in stone.

Nervously,
questioningly,
your tongue flirts with the air.
Do the molecules say friend or foe?
Sometimes, friend, I bring you food and water.
But today
Something is different.
Do you taste my trembling apprehension?

Are you thinking, as I am, of the days
when you slithered gracefully through the meadow,
fueled by the warm sun on your back,
slicing the cool, damp grass beneath your belly?

I wish you did not need to die
to yield your inner secrets.
I wish that I could know you
in a moment of communion
and you could glide away,
back to your sunny meadow.

My lungs feel the heavy tightness
as you fight the blanket of ether,
my flesh laid open by the razor's edge.
As I snuff out your life's breath,
I hold my own.

Today
a part of me is dying
for a purpose I only hope is noble.