The Deal

(from the NaPoWriMo prompt: write a poem of origin.)

I have a memory of a pit

in the deep desert sand

and my father down

in it.

I have a memory of a goat’s

curled horns, shaggy grey

coat, and black, round

eyes staring.

I have a memory of the goat’s

silhouette against the

blue sky as my father

bargained with him.

I have a memory of holding the goat’s

hard, ridged, curled horn

while he retold the story

of the deal he struck.

And now I imagine the nights

lying in bed, listening to Father

as he holds the horn,

the hole, the blue sky

and my memories

in his hands.