Descent into the Cave

At some point, we must uncouple.  
The overhang, you see, is a maw. 
Before you go, inscribe your name  
on the tablet of members. Incise it  
with your own chisel, tap it in with your own  
hammer, refine it with your own rasps and  
rifflers. Time. Please adjust your harness.  
Light your lamp. It will help with the  
early stages. Later, only an impediment.  
Discard it then. You’ll know when. Ready?  
We’ll escort you, one of us vigilant  
on either side, to the ramp, to the 
ever-narrowing crevices. Abrasions, 
a natural part of the process, and 
the odd amputation. Drop into the egg  
of the place. Crouch over, nose to knees.  
Make no sound. You’ve arrived. 

JANE M. WISEMAN

Jane M. Wiseman is a poet who splits her time between very urban Minneapolis and the Sandia Mountains of New Mexico. She enjoys all kinds of poetry and writes in other forms, too. She is an enthusiastic Sunday painter and loves spending time with family.