The Beetle

The room was clamorous, but she was in a quiet place
the Medium, unseeing and seeing through heavy lidded eyes
hands pulled by other hands
brushing the air around me
seeking through static
lingering finally, touching left of my heart

She(he)said: Do you remember when they placed this here?
when they placed the beetle here?

Strange the point where her(his) hand now rested
had often caused me pain
sudden, sharp and shallow
an inexplicable hitch in my breathing
like my flesh snagging, tearing
catching on a splinter of brittle rib

She(he)said: It was a ceremonial rite. An initiation.

I don't remember. Too much time has passed.

But I tried to picture the(my)body rotting in the desert heat
resined and spiced and desiccating
the fan eared jackal in silhouette
the charms and gilded promises
my mouth opening, my silent voice restored
the scarab enameled in the bright jewel greens and watery aquas of living things
golden and shimmery like a vision of eternity,
placed reverently on dry bones

She(he) said: You were alive.

Alive as I ever was and still am
eternity is my Ka drifting
my eyes open in other eyes
and the beetle, somehow still present
an occasional stab in my side to remind me
this shell is irrelevant
still alive, still here
still eternal
the insect basking in another dawn