A stranger, I’d been advised
Not to expect warm welcome
From the village tribe…
I stood far back at the edges
Of the crowd that gathered
Around a stone-bordered hole,
Waiting for anticipated moment
When The Quake would send
Rippling wave ‘neath their feet—
Thus signalling the elders to step up,
Spit a pebble into abyss of lost souls.
The man whose spit stone caused
A reverberating echo, would own
Treasure yet undisclosed, unknown.
It might be money, property, or the town’s
Youngest virgin—his bride-prize to wed.
Aside from this celebratory event,
There was possibility of secondary,
Quite shuddery, happenstance.
It hadn’t occurred in the past 7 years—
Perhaps, some folks whispered,
The day was well due.
A man too excitable, who lacked stern
Control—might swallow his pebble, and
Choke till he turned death’s dim
Indigo…toppling fast and forever
Into the Hole.
©Jael Sook, 2017 All rights reserved.
Image credit: Pixabay
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