Oracle
by Miranda Hawkins

 

This was a major project in my first college Creative Writing class. It was also the only work my teacher ever botherd to compliment me on, but she still found numerous faults with it, which I don't really feel are worth the time to mention.

 

 

Brazen, flashing neon
illuminates the peeling doorway
proclaiming,
"Welcome to Delphi,"
as the club's erratic bass beat
pounds like blood boiling through the veins.
Past the rusting doors,
in a crack-creased corner,
she sits night after night,
claiming the only barstool
which has raised her to a sacred status
in the hazy eyes of those around her.
Masked by a veil of dark oily hair,
distorted by the smokey circles under her eyes,
she nods - offbeat,
swaying to the rhythm in her head.
Slowly, as the night wears on,
they come to her—
seeking forbidden knowledge
which she mindlessly gives.
One Laius follows another
and soon,
the answers and the faces
are all the same.
Yet still she inhales the herbal concoction
her golden Apollo places before her,
and still she heeds the false truths
he whispers beguilingly in one ear.

 

 

All poetry, stories, etc. ©2000 Miranda J. Hawkins. All rights reserved

 

 

 

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