Transmute

Anubis
There’s a man etching a circle into my arm, at present.
He is bent over, his face and my arm occupying the same space,
and I can see the globules of sweat
sprouting from his forehead. He is concentrating.
I am concentrating too, though not on reality.
My eyes are closed, as I cannot watch the oscillating,
ink-injecting needles, rapidly rupturing my skin.
Still, I feel reassured that I am becoming me.
With my eyes closed, I can see not
the image being engraved, but instead the genuine presence
of the masked personage being stamped.
Anubis: gatekeeper and embalmer, keeper of the dead.
I do not know of his true figure but I can see the dog’s head
on the human body and I peek now to see
the same dog’s head now joining my own body, inscribed inside a circle.
Perhaps he was ashamed to be the lesser god of the underworld,
and hid his countenance in fear. Yet, here I pay tribute now,
to the keeper of the scales, who gives equal opportunity
to both the good and bad of heart. Here I don his mask of
shame in order to empower myself -- to possess an emblem of
truth, and goodness. Now, the man has finished and he tells me
to look into the mirror. I wonder of Anubis,
his mask and headdress in profile,
I wonder would he be pleased by my acceptance?
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