Lime
The victorious army marches into the city,
& not far behind tarries a throng of women
Who slept with the enemy on the edge
Of battlements. The stunned morning
Opens into a dust cloud of hooves
& drums. Some new priests cradle
Stone tablets, & others are poised
With raised mallets in a forest of defeated
Statuary. Of course, behind them
Linger the turncoats & pious
Merchants of lime. What’s Greek
Is forged into Roman; what’s Roman
Is hammered into a ceremony of birds
Headed east. Whatever is marble
Burns in the lime kilns because
Someone dreams of a domed bathhouse.
Copyright Credit: Yusef Komunyakaa, “Lime” from Talking Dirty to the Gods. Copyright © 2000 by Yusef Komunyakaa. Used by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC,
http://us.macmillan.com/fsg. All rights reserved.
http://us.macmillan.com/fsg. All rights reserved.
Source: Talking Dirty to the Gods (Farrar Straus and Giroux, 2000)