The Nation, January 17th, 1987
THE CHILDREN OF PARADISE
As children we once made it up
Unknowingly, the ritual,
And the place forbidden
Beyond the boundary stones . . .
First we wrung a drop of blood
From our pin-pricked thumbs,
Then swore an oath
Through the wound: the bamboo
Soldier staked to a scarp
Beside the pineapple fields
Would marry us in the eyes
Of his terrible law, "Who go here
Gets his heart torn out
For the crows.' At midnight,
Under a staring moon,
We sprinted across the back
Half-acre the spinster-farmer
Owned, and hid ourselves
Among the family graves
Sheltered beneath a palm:
The hea...
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