Goddess Descending

expressionist painting by Kurina Llergo Salto.

Goddess Descending

“Art! Who comprehends her? With whom can one

consult concerning this great goddess?”

--Ludwig van Beethoven.

It was the late summer of ’68.

  I was getting out of the Navy, even

       though the war in Viet Nam was still

           raging on. A week before my discharge, I was

       enjoying a halcyon late afternoon high

  up along the Angeles Crest, leaning hard

against a red-barked jack pine,

like the ones you see on Bonanza,

    partially napping while peering out over a gray-blue

                           noxious smog cloud that mantled the 

                           cites below, slowly turning golden red

                           from California sunshine, beginning to

                      look like napalm, like the zealous

                 spark in Charlie’s eyes as he rushed

               over our deadly concertina wire while

             we barely slept, hugging our rifles and

          whispering our mother’s names.

I was lulled into floating

in some kind of honied

mist, propelled by warm currents, paddling in deep

                                     champagne, bubbles rising

                                     like schools of wishes, when

I first saw her, dropping

down in sensual descent

directly in front of me, her eyes closed, her long blond

                                     tresses floating provocatively, 

                                     reaching back up the surface,

with some kind of pink chiffon Grecian dress swirling

and billowing around her

like a randy parachute, her ample breasts partially

                                      exposed, her long naked legs

                                      undulating slowly.

She was a dream girl,

               a mermaid,

               a silkie,

               an apparition, but somehow emanating a

               tragic sadness, appearing joyous, lusty, 

               but with a tinge, a vibe of suicide.

                                  I awoke with a start and a snort,

                            as if I had not been breathing, and

              found two red & black Monarchs fluttering,

         perhaps mating, on my face. Taking a

      moment to regain my bearings, her

features seemed etched into the

      scarred chambers of my soul, her

          presence was palpable. I witnessed her

                opening her eyes in my mind, and

                             they were violet-green. She cupped

                             her breasts in front of my lips,

brushing her nipples across my mouth

as gentle as dove’s wings

Who the hell was she--a portent,

                                     a herald.

                                     a warning,

                                     a messenger, or

                                     a succubus,

                                     a demon,

                                     an angel or

                                     spirit guide?

I got to my feet & shook off her wondrous hold on

me, grabbing her sweetly but firmly in my trembling

hands before flinging & releasing her out into the

cerulean-blue sky that framed the Sierras.  As I

headed down to my SS Impala awaiting me, I felt

stronger, lighter, enriched--even

loved.

Golden goddess poised

in a daydream, touching me;

my heart fortified.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub