Poem of the week

IN THE BULRUSHES by Katha Pollitt

Lotus. Papyrus. Turquoise. Lapis. Gold.
A jackal-headed god
nods in the noon
that shimmers over the river
as if fanned by invisible slave girls.
Frogs fall silent , stunned
by the sun or eternity.
The Pyramids have been crumbling for centuries.

Snug in his bassinet of reeds
the lucky baby plays with his toes,
naked. What does he care
for his mother's eyes in a thorn tree?
Around his head an alphabet of flames
spells Thunder. Transformation.
Woe to women.

The sun begins its red plunge down the sky.
Deep in the earth a locust's eyes snap open.
Frogs resume their trill
And punctual to the minute
down the path,
tottering on jewelled sandals, comes
the beautiful lonely princess

who's wandered in from another kind of story.

(Katha Pollitt is a columnist for the Nation. Her most recent book is Subject to Debate: Sense and Dissents on Women, Politics, and Culture. She's a writer whose mind in her columns is so beautiful, I'd want to fuck her even if she had a moustache.)