We dangled,

Suspended from the

Golden dome ceiling by the

Shimmering glass globes

Of the

Chandelier

Vaulting over their

Heads.

And in that

Hollow

Room, their voices

Echoed across every

Wall,

Giving to us,

Filling us with

Words,

Words,

Alabanza,

They cry,

Alabanza,

Praises in a

Language we can

Half understand.

My name,

Proclaims another,

Telling a story not her

Own,

Of a name stripped away,

My name.

Each calls out and

Chants and

Weaves stories

Of discovery

And self

And the love of

A mother

Or love of

Someone else, but

Alabanza,

Alabanza,

They fill us with

Words,

And we are hungry.

We devour with our

Ears

And consume with our

Minds

Where sight is useless,

As pages and pages

Of words have

Partially blinded us

Anyway.

My name,

Our hearts cry,

Through a chorus of

Alabanzas,

And we greedily catch

The words,

Words

Between our fingers

As they spill out

Of their mouths,

Filling the

Hollow room

With the golden domed

Ceiling,

And raining the

Alabanzas

From the

Shimmering glass globes

Of the

Chandelier

Over their

Heads.

***

OK, this poem is not about some weird cult ritual or demon summoning.

This is about the Geraldine R. Dodge poetry festival.

So...good guess, but no.

Forgot to post it, it happened a while back.

Eh, whatever.