A Large and Unexpected Statue of Anubis
I saw you and my knees gave way.
I think it was in the V&A, I almost fell; your majesty a shock.
(All strong men should have jackal heads.)
My bones demanded that I worship you,
Each cell was heavy with your praise.
O black divinity.
O weigher of hearts.
I knew myself your supplicant; your slave in thrall.
But I was modern. I stood tall, but quaking:
Stillness brought by shame,
Trained to refuse such adoration, my mind whispering your name;
Whispering it still, as softly as a kiss.
O jackal god, O more than dog,
O beautiful unknown Anubis.
I am three thousand years too late to be your acolyte.
I shall never witness jackals scratching open shallow graves at night.
Devouring what they find. Becoming you.
I wish that I had felt the floor beneath my palms and bones.
The weight of your authority, the pull of earth; your realm below.
Down through ages and discoveries,
Back to the believed, the known.
I yearned to fall, but I stood still; disobedient but not free,
Listening to the world, and not your majesty.
A statue myself, pinioned, there I was:
Girl refusing her impulse to venerate an ancient god.
Regretfully declining there to worship recklessly,
For I was with my mother,
And still Catholic in name at least.
Now I hunt you, seek your face
In museums with Egyptian rooms,
And cases of old gods.
Sometimes you appear as you did that day,
Striding like a man towards his own.
Other times you are most doglike;
On your haunches in Stockholm,
Misplaced by the staircase,
Almost in disguise.
But I could see you. I was not surprised.
In engravings you lie outstretched,
With always that strength in your rigid neck.
Never does your muzzle rest upon your paws, never do you doze.
You, lord of darkness and the endless sleep, are lively in repose.
The diastole is half the heartbeat still; the pause is part of life.
You come to weigh and hold the heart.
(Anubis, judge it light!)
Beyond the visible life of earth you are the gatekeeper,
The strict companion of birth.
Another time I will bring down my lips
To the cold black stone of your feet or claws,
Then make a shrine to you at home.
Bring you fruits and flowers and perfumed oil.
Burn incense. Light the gloom with candles.
Their gold will throw circles, bright collars on the walls.
Anubis, you are a living god to me.
I come now with bowed head and upraised heart.
I worship thee.
Liz Kendall works as a Shiatsu and massage practitioner and Tai Chi Qigong teacher. Her poetry has been published by Candlestick Press and The Hedgehog Poetry Press. Liz has collaborated with an artist and ethnobotanist on the forthcoming book Meet Us and Eat Us: Food plants from around the world, which explores biodiversity through poetry, prose, and fine art photography. Her website is https://theedgeofthewoods.uk and she is on Twitter/X and Facebook @rowansarered.
Amethyst Review 