Josephine Pinckney

INTO the valleys I flee, into the shadows;

But there is no peace, no sanctuary.

The hills, like elephants,

Shoulder noiseless through the clouds

And close in on me.

Where shall I hide from the tread of their feet?

I have overset the gods in the temples, and there is none to protect me—

The little gods of jade with staring eyes,

The great gold and black gods with foolish faces.

Tell me, little gods of the North and East, and of the South and West,

How long shall my bones wait, lying on these rocks,

To become as white as the broken plaster

Of the images in the temple?

Tell me, true gods,

Speak a swift word!—

For the clouds descend in a hot white mist of wrath,

And through them stamp the elephants …

The terrible elephants …

Trumpeting …