#174

Through a forest, I happened upon
a veiled stranger,
her neck adorned with a golden necklace
that glittered in the dim light.

She was covered in a tattered robe
that smelled of incense
and smoked iron,
its stench burrowing deep into my lungs.

She introduced herself as a goddess,
the divinity of both the lost
and lost things.

I've been here many times before.
I couldn't call myself lost.

But perhaps I was lucky
to be graced, at least once,
by the presence of a goddess—
though her form was far too foreign
for me to comprehend.

I bowed my head in respect
and went on my way.

You see, I was in a hurry, and—

"Halt!" cried the goddess of the lost,
her voice now laced with fury.

I stopped.

I didn't know why she had grown angry,
but surely I must have done something wrong,
something born of my own ignorance.

I turned around, bowed, and apologized.

"Are you not going to ask for help
in reclaiming something you've lost?"

She asked.

But I,
the dullest of men,
couldn't recall anything I'd lost
of such grave importance
that I would require her assistance.

"Speak!"

But I couldn't answer her riddle.

I shook my head, smiled, bowed,
and apologized once more.

"You will burn,
and then you will be punished
for refusing to speak the truth.

"Speak!"

But for the life of me,
I didn't know what to tell her.

Then she noticed my eyes.

They had spoken the truth all along.

"You have forgotten."

Her eyes widened.
Her voice weakened.
Her gaze wandered elsewhere.

"Perhaps I am mistaken."

She said no more.

A flash of light engulfed the forest,
blinding me for a mere moment.

And when I could see once more,
the goddess was nowhere to be found.

She had left.

I was alone once more
in the forest I frequented.

I still couldn't believe what had just happened.

I had met a goddess.
I had offended her.

And I had lost something—
something that,
for the life of me,
I couldn't remember.

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