Impenetrable Blue

I was trying to write about the unreasonableness of God,
Abraham and Isaac–you know, father and young son—
how could He ask for that?
As a child I preferred National Geographic
to Bible stories: two priests, veiled by moonless night,
led three children up the rocky path of Yu-yai-ya-ko,
home of Incan mountain gods.

The eldest girl wore a white-feathered cap,
her brother carried a farm tool,
his twin sister grasped a tiny doll in each hand,
miniature shawls, finely woven threads,
berry red and the impenetrable blue of midnight.

Long hours the priests labored, digging graves,
lining them with provisions, with stones.
When the pit was deep, they placed dirt-stained hands
on small heads, shining black hair.
Pouring from a jug of chica beer, they pressed
the spout firmly to each set of lips.

Dreaming between worlds, they lowered the children
below ground, closed their eyelids for eternity.
Before departing, the priests tied strings
of pearly shells around each child’s neck:
gifts from the sea for thirsty deities
dwelling in dry Andean peaks.

Soul-Lit: A Journal of Spiritual Poetry, Vol. 28, Summer Issue, 2021