Esther Vincent Xueming (b. 1987)
SELECTED POEMS
Pilgrims
Hiking up the Piton de la Fournaise
A bumpy ride across an ashy plateau, still misty
from the rain. The air is sulphuric, tinged with grey.
We are a motley crew of travellers, bodies shaking
in the heaving car with each cratered drop.
Ground marked by potholes reminds me of the moon.
To reach the base of the breathing volcano,
we must cross the Plaine des Sables.
The hike teaches us that the body has its limits,
that we must be patient and listen.
Carefully, we trek down the mountain’s side,
on uneven steps carved out of solid rock,
an unforgiving drop to our right. Fellow hikers
daily traverse this path, treading land forged by fire, spewed
from the depths of a restless molten core, awakening
each year to remind us, it lives.
Strong, intermittent winds unsettling the dust.
As far as the eye can see, miles of dark brown rock, bulbous
and grotesque, rising towards the peak.
Rock braided into the ground like rope, gnarled
and twisted from the constant pressure of hot and cold.
I bend down to touch some porous fragments,
then wrap and keep them in my bag. Our guide
has gone on ahead, eager to make good time.
Each eruption leaves something behind, I think,
the fire giving even as it takes.
This time, we are lucky. We lose nothing but daylight.
A wandering mist swirls over the land,
taking its time to know each crevice,
name each surviving plant.
We climb the caldera, sit and eat amidst the ashes.
We shrink as the eye expands, pilgrims walking on fire.
by Esther Vincent Xueming
from Red Earth (2021)
