On humid nights
I’d sneak to the lakeshore,
And wade on the sandbar
To the acolyte island,
A lightning bug sanctuary.
I’d leave my marks
And hide my treasure
Of silky rocks and snake sheds
And sing laments of never lost loves.
I’d find my faith
While dozing under the sprawling branches
Of the great Live Oak.
And one day the doze
Slipped into a dream.
A wading siren called to me
To wake up quick to defend from
The cicada and salamander spirits
Who came to take my soul.
I was too hot and lazy,
Let them take it, I said.
But she wouldn’t let them have it,
So she took it for herself.
And into the great oak
All my memories flowed,
With all my heart ache,
And all my ambitions.
She said she’d wished I could wander
But that I was now promised
To her and the island.
I would never leave,
I would never try.
And her image broke,
And I woke up to a hot morning.
Inside me grew a knot,
And I never wanted to leave
This place was no longer my cage, I thought
While I sat in my warm resting place.
Ramblings of a Brazilian folktale