the women of souli

[constantine]

as the heron flies, graceful and lithe
so did the souliot women dance
arm in arm, steps measured
in syncopation, like the embroidered
meander of dowry linen, taught
from mother to daughter, onward
through ages younger than the mountain,
but older than memory

they took to the air,
as if it was their element
a last refuge and possession
free from the rapacious hand of the pasha
and the gunpowder eyes of the turk
advancing through the mountain passes,
they cut through both husband and son
you could hear the drum and the bugle
you could taste the salt and sulphur
the howl of the village dogs, like
the unleashed winds of aeolus,
running counterpoint
to the rhythm of the dance

only the women remained
as plunder for the harem -
slaves for the fields,
and they danced, arm in arm
steps measured
the children on their shoulders
the music reverberating through memory
the passions kindled by defiance
it was their time.

as the heron flies, graceful and lithe
so did the women dance
caressed by the currents -
in line with their character and destiny
the rhythm faster, and faster yet,
in half-circle, hand in hand
the women danced
off the cliff to the rocks below