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Nissim Ezekiel - Night of the Scorpion
Work rating: High

	I remember the night my mother
	was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours
	of steady rain had driven him
	to crawl beneath a sack of rice.

	Parting with his poison - flash
	of diabolic tail in the dark room -
	he risked the rain again.

	The peasants came like swarms of flies
	and buzzed the name of God a hundred times
	to paralyse the Evil One.

	With candles and with lanterns
	throwing giant scorpion shadows
	on the mud-baked walls
	they searched for him: he was not found.
	They clicked their tongues.
	With every movement that the scorpion made his poison moved in Mother`s blood, they said.

	May he sit still, they said
	May the sins of your previous birth
	be burned away tonight, they said.
	May your suffering decrease
	the misfortunes of your next birth, they said.
	May the sum of all evil
	balanced in this unreal world

	against the sum of good
	become diminished by your pain.
	May the poison purify your flesh

	of desire, and your spirit of ambition,
	they said, and they sat around
	on the floor with my mother in the centre,
	the peace of understanding on each face.
	More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours,
	more insects, and the endless rain.
	My mother twisted through and through,
	groaning on a mat.
	My father, sceptic, rationalist,
	trying every curse and blessing,
	powder, mixture, herb and hybrid.
	He even poured a little paraffin
	upon the bitten toe and put a match to it.
	I watched the flame feeding on my mother.
	I watched the holy man perform his rites to tame the poison with an incantation.
	After twenty hours
	it lost its sting.

	My mother only said
	Thank God the scorpion picked on me
	And spared my children.
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