When the body / fills with tiny hooves / pressing in the early hours / before dawn
Mosaic of the Dark is drenched in metaphor, mystery, and prayer. Dordal, in her acquired wisdom, has produced a book of poetry that transcends a woman’s story to become a spiritual awakening.
European colonization comes in the shape of a hierarchical, patriarchal triangle. “There’s no way to decolonize,” she continues, “without that spiritual understanding, without getting back into the spiritual circle.”
I carry the cross down the hill / while my brothers cackle and scourge / me until I tire
She is having contractions, / and the Kingdom of Heaven / is splitting apart her legs.
Don’t pray to be healed, or look for evidence / of “some other world.” / There is no other.
what she’ll do—one bottle of hoarded pills / and one of good bourbon, a spot she’s picked / at the base of a hickory
God: / Which is my best invention— / swallowing or vomiting? / I still can’t decide.
