Mount Sinjar by Lou Heron

Mount Sinjar

I am the jar which contains
war. Placed on the summit
collecting the last rain water

of inaudible hollowness and sleep.

An internally controlled whatever: whatever says, whatever
suffering does, whatever
I cool becomes holy.

Radiant where the radius disintegrates.

I go far remaining on Mount Sinjar— confetti obliquely

descending and rising
after new ascension.

The pieces expose so many colors: emerald, gold, one after
another— blue; chaos, collusion, one after another— plum.
I count backwards to one. I’m the temple on the summit. I trap none.


About the Poet
Lou Heron is a graduate of St. John’s College. She lives in Chicago and works in administration for a university. Her work has appeared in the Columbia Poetry Review, Epigraph Magazine, and The Columbia Review.