Ruth Padel

Earthquake
July 9, 2013 Padel Ruth

Earthquake

(from Seven Words)

 

The voices of self are ended. A sepia

penumbra clears round a moon of blood.

 

The ancient temple cloth, purple thread

twisted with blue

 

and scarlet, thick linen protecting other people

all these years you’ve lived

 

from what is dangerous and sacred,

tears in two. Earth trembles and will not stop.

 

Feldspar, formed on the abyssal plain

of the ocean floor

 

splits presto and goes on splitting. Rocks crack

like cannon-fire

 

and distant mountains of East Nazareth

echo in aftershock

 

over limestone braille

in the Dead Sea Rift or Fault

 

over aquifers, flint and fissured chalk

and barbed wire

 

on the Mount of Olives.

Violence. Take your finger off the edge

 

and it snaps back like a rubber band

shaking our ground from top to bottom.

 

Buckling. Compression.  A spear jabs through

one interspace between the ribs

 

and water gushes out with blood from the fluid sac.

This is the end of everything you’ve been.

 

God is what God does. You are the earth.

The outer world, body’s integument, the layers

 

of all that’s happened in a life,

the bastions of defence and muddled litter

 

of experience, are bleeding out like dye

into a shroud. We are rhythmic animals

 

and our prayer

is breath. We don’t need veil:

 

the mystery we call soul

is no password-protected secret

 

but an invitation.

You’ll get there. You’re neither victim

 

nor a hero. You’ve come home

to new

 

possibilities of you. The night glides by.

Clouds move silver fast and free across the sky.

Ruth Padel’s next book, Emerald (Chatto & Windus, 2018), explores Colmbian emerald mining and Indian emerald-cutting. She has published ten collections and is closely engaged with Greece, music, science and conservation. Tigers in Red Weather explored Asian tiger forests. She is Professor of Poetry at King’s College London. ruthpadel.com