Viv Naomi Young

Golem

          “Is it cold in the water?”
 
Down there
riverbed girl kneels,
palms reaching, knees bent,
into oxidized sand.
 
They say she’s hiding there,
but you still
see her —
seismic,
beckon worlds:
Come build twin mountains.
My chest is bared.
 
In prayer her body repeats
itself. Girl echoes —
Plunge your hands into cool clay,
feel her churn
the energetic earth,
and arise then full
of element.
 
So gently she tilts back,
arcs her heart toward the surface,
braided skies beyond.
You will do nothing
as she molds her breasts.
 
You believe what you see.
Her
Devotion to body,
ritual of self-
Creation.
The waters rise above.
The earth below affirms.
She names it.