The guided tour of Knossos

Ash ingrained, shadows etched on stones.
'Go here, go there, turn right,
turn left and we shall come to the place.'

Not then, but now. Turn here and
see something as ephemeral as that ladybird,
settled on a pink flower in the sandy ground.

Or as the woman with the expensive haircut
trying to keep up with the man in white jeans
and baseball cap running down the uneven steps.

The sun-hatted child taking a sudden leap
towards the pit in which sacrificial remains
were thrown after the blood letting.

A ball of dried grasses glitters in the lustral basin.
Bone hard whitened snail shells gather
on the lava rock, set on a petrol slate plinth.

A curly haired boy goes back and forth
carrying pebbles to spill on the offering table,
filling the hollowed altar stone .

The German guide stands on the first of five
uneven steps. His words chop the air -
'Gebrannte, gebrannte, alles gebrannte!'*

No point in conjuring profiles in procession
flowing hair blowing in perfect unison, nor in
building virtual pillars to hold up the throne room.

Beneath the red hat bobbing along the loggia wall
lies history. Who will wash your bones in wine,
kiss your fleshless skull and weep for what you were?

*'Burned, burned, all is burned!'

© 2005 Rita Ray