Given to the Gods

given to the Gods, she waits
the fear inside a slow flame,
burning her resolve.
and then, suddenly, they are here
the Grandmothers, old as Time,
marking her face, ochre-striped,
hanging about her neck the sacred band
of amber, teeth and gold.
they light the bowl of herbs
and smoke, soft as silk, courses through the hut
filling her head with dreams
rising, she walks towards the setting sun,
painted in blood-light,
messenger of her people.
an arrow, sent to the Gods.