But Our Darkness Is Thick

Deep in the forest,
past plantations and clear cuts and rubber stands,
past fires and tourists and river boats,
there was a hole.

There was a legend
that whoever fell into the hole
would fall into the land of the gods.

When the boy fell in,
chasing a snake through the brush,
people heard his screams.

His mother reached for him,
his father held her back.
People gathered.

The mother held vigil all night,
pleading with the stars.

The next day the clouds were dark.
The mother wept behind a tree.
Her daughters brought her home and fed her.

That night the boy emerged, silently,
crawled and slithered through the vines
and immersed himself in the river.
He lay still in the shallows, waiting.

He came in the morning with a shriek,
caught a chicken and ate it.
People gathered and someone drew a circle around him.
He crouched.
Someone brought fire,
some men held torches,
surrounding, closing in.

The boy cowered, looking for escape.
He saw her,
tear stained and wary from sleepless nights.
He howled and she rushed forward,
threw him on her back, ran.

He ate her alive.
Days later, far into the jungle.
He returned and they caged him,
brought him to a cliff and let the panthers eat him.
His father took his daughters and went away.

I know it is sad.
Be brave.
The light will illuminate
but our darkness is thick.