Salome and St John

Twas not Salome’s dance that captured Herod
Rather the way she never danced for him
Her footfall scattered through the palace rooms
Like restless leaves in forests of the North.
Twas not her mother’s jewels clasped in her hair
Rather the way she shook them out and ran
Desperate to breathe some free and untouched air
Dancing to music unseen by the man.

Twas not John’s voice that captured Salome
Rather the way he never spoke to her
Silent in Jordan, cleaner than the wind
From seas and mountains she had never seen.
Twas not his rants of prophecy and priest
Rather the way he stilled when she was by
And words became the breath of life released
Quiet as clouds before they climb the sky

Twas not King Herod’s choice that captured John
Rather the way he never chose a thing
Crushed in the fingers of a smiling god
Who smeared his heartbreak on a dagger’s edge.
Twas not political nor unslaked lust
Rather there was a locust in his head
Feeding on images of love and dust
Till all was gone, and pain itself was dead.

© Copyright Debbie Gallagher 3/01/15 all rights reserved

Who can tell why things turn up in one's head? Very early this morning I had a vision of the poem's beginning, next thing I know I was down here trying to turn it into something. Three hours later the result was just terrible, and even this doesn't quite please me. Probably needs to be left for a few months, then altered. Or just abandoned. For good or ill this is now its shape.