Offerings, and other rituals by Nadine Ellsworth-Moran

I long to return to Bali, to the quiet that slips
through rice fields, mixes with offerings
 
cupped in banana leaves, traced on temples
cool with moss and devotion, hovering
 
in the scent of buried springs—
whatever gaps in my soul are filled,
 
at least for the time I stand
with my forehead pressed against stones. 
 
It doesn’t matter what I understand
of this.  I am here.
 
And when I happen upon a place
of Ngaben, see only charred remnants
 
left at my feet, I feel
the release of a soul ablaze—
 
a body carefully arranged,
asleep from its pains
 
and sorrows.  Freedom
found in the flames, the journey
 
begun in spark touched kindling, igniting
the vihara of paper and wood that sits
 
on tall posts and hold what remains
until all becomes a cold hearth of earth
 
I touch with my hands, hands that once
touched your skin and still reach out,
 
for we are not yet dead.  Am I
more than the weight of fire
 
as I stand before you burning?
Is there in my cinderedsoul,
 
my fireborne blood, anything
that will survive you?   This utterness—
 
stuttering with coals
in my mouth, tongueburnt
 
and ash lipped.  There are
no words that escape
 
            if…         only…        when…
 
reduced to embers, yet
flicker still, in inconceivable
 
resistance to immolation
on this pyre of ours.

About the Poet:

Nadine Ellsworth-Moran lives in Georgia where she serves full time in ministry. She has a passion for writing and is fascinated by the stories of the modern South unfolding all around her as she seeks to bring everyone into conversation at a common table. Her essays and poems have appeared in Rust+Moth, Calla Press, Interpretation, Ekstasis, Thimble, Emrys, Structo, Kakalak, and Sonic Boom, among others. She lives with her husband and four unrepentant cats.