The Alija dancers are now at the foot
of the altar of the swift tongued priestess
and the voice of the flutist
has ascended to the top of the iroko tree
and rustles the leaves there
and on the ground feet move
as the ekwe invites the ogene, embraces it
their throats and voices now interlaced
in rhythmic throbbings
The dark eyed priestess
circles of white chalk
around her eyes and ears,
lips coated in dark paint
running down her nose
walks in with slow footed sorrow, regal like
slowed down by heavy copper bangles on her feet
sagged by the séances and sciences of her vision
captive ears, shivering bodies, trembling souls
cower as private and divine wisdom are dispensed
in incantations channeled by invisible forces, the prophetess
a shaking medium spewing revelations
all specious knowledge, empty chants and blank visions,
the vision of bats…..
She was not there at the sacrifice of the innocents
nor at the forced departure of mothers in youth
but now she claims she saw them all,
before they happened, before they were planned
but she did nothing about them
told no one
she sees tomorrow only
after they are come and gone
and though she lives among the living
her loyalties are with the dead.
Reflections 
Noel–
This is beautiful, and so dark. Like roses at a funeral, gorgeous but heavy with sadness, death, and something more I can’t put my finger on. Knowing nothing of the rituals described here, I am going to have to do some research before I comment further, but wow–this is potent stuff (yes, your favorite word again, but in another context).
I can see this, you describe it so well (and though it is something you hate, you do describe it so strikingly);
a shaking medium spewing revelations
all specious knowledge, empty chants and blank visions,
the vision of bats…..
and I love the closing lines–
and though she lives among the living
her loyalties are with the dead.
I’ll have to get back to you with more, once I know what you are really talking about….
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