The Stake
The dig was held at Sozopol
Beside the Black Sea shore,
Where Iskra Angelova
Came parading, past my door.
She asked me, was I Stevens,
From the Bramling Institute?
But my eyes were full of lips and hair,
And so I sat there, mute!
She had those Slavic cheekbones
And those bright, wide honeyed eyes,
And a smile that told my fortune,
Partly truth, but mostly lies,
And I knew we'd be together
While we foraged at the site,
So I smiled at her in greeting,
And her eyes beamed in delight!
‘I'm glad you're so much younger
Than that pesky Androvich,
He's a fusty Russian scholar,
Dull as water in a ditch! '
And she laughed, we laughed together
For I knew just what she meant,
Though her English wasn't perfect
She could hold an argument!
Through the days and weeks that followed
Digging dirt and sifting bones,
In that medieval churchyard
Full of grief and standing stones,
We worked side by side together
In the graves, and touching hands,
Me, the western anthropologist
And her, from eastern lands!
So the first kiss was much sweeter
Than of any I had known,
And we struggled in the darkness
Of my room, once left alone,
For her appetite, voracious,
Was demanding to the core,
As she wrapped herself around me
I would dread her whispered: ‘More! '
I was tired and not quite with it
When we came upon a sight
That had Iskra sitting, trembling,
She crossed herself in fright,
For the skeleton beneath us
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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