At last, Virgil and I descend,
rappel down Satan’s fur, coarse, greasy,
leaving behind the treacherous,
bound in rounds of ice,
and behind still the circles filled
with the vehement, the angered,
blasphemers, oppressors,
the unborn, and living dead.
All of Hell gathers before us in a cyclone,
talons claw at faces chew on limbs grasp
at souls who gasp for air,
bodies upside down, headfirst in waste,
wastrels unbound by time, manacled in dark passions,
inverted trinities.
Virgil grabs my hand,
together we right our free-fall.
What feels like the weight of creation
lands squarely on us; for a moment
we fear it’s the Devil itself
reaching out to rein us back;
here at the earth’s center, gravity reasserts its weight
in this our new hemisphere, pull becomes push.
We burst through mantle and crust,
emerge headfirst, the anti-breach,
birthed of the world, sooty
reeking of sulfur, nickel
and basalt dust.
We bathe in clean water,
we drink-in clean water.
Memory returns of good life on the surface,
a time for sweet breads and bitter roots,
a paschal sup to toast, to proclaim
the glory of this, our ascension.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Haiku for each of the Inferno’s Circles
Circle 1 – Circle 2 – Circle 3 – Circle 4 – Circle 5 – Circle 6 – Circle 7 – Circle 8 – Circle 9
Alphabet City 