Veil

Veil

Kristen Nakamura

I.

Evening breath drapes the earth, this dirty, teeming,
neck of thieves, brimming with death and trooping
foxes that sneer in the dark, snouts gleaming with decay.
Groan with me, O world, and shriek like a woman
in labor; release the bodies in your bowels.
Aaron cries out and falls to his knees—exposed
the temple and torn the veil—
the Spirit of the Lord spills
from the Holy of Holies, the sun drops
from the sky and hell is harrowed;
the woman gives birth.
O God! earth rent her womb and I was born
who had been asleep. I did not know why at first,
but I passed a cross on the way to the City.
I pointed and cried—
My Lord and my God! That is he!
That is he who opened the gates of hell—

II.

Morning mist cloaks the ground, shrouding
the face of the passing earth.
In her chamber the bride trembles
beneath a cloud of vapor, praying for return,
the Sun rising, her veil lifting.
Into the pores of my skin, the veil whispers—
I am the shadow of rain and
the daughter of dew,
forerunner of the opened heaven;
I am the prism of a future rainbow—
The veil is anticipation; I am anticipation.
We are all anticipation for a day of nakedness and Spirit.

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Kristen Nakamura
Poet & Student

Kristen Nakamura’s work has been published in Creation and The Phoenix Literary Magazine. A senior at Baylor University, she has been awarded and recognized two consecutive years at the Beall Poetry Festival. When not attending school in Texas, she explores her home state of Washington and pursues her passion project of translating her great-grandmother's haiku into English.

Photography by Diana D.S.