Star Festival

I look out of the temple, watching the people gather, 

waiting for the oracle, waiting for me. I am the one 

they gather for and yet, not at the same time. They  

only come for the prophecies, ones that will tell of 

hope. Hope for continued sun, for healthy crops, 

for healthy families, not for storms on the sea, 

not for a drought. As if the prophecies will tell 

of that, they never do. They instead tell the asker 

what they need to hear, never what they want to. 

Hush, people, hush cow. You will all see later, 

when the Lady’s priestess starts the ceremonies, 

when I start the sacrifice. Perfect cow, hush, all 

will be over soon. The other workers run around 

making sure the temple is ready, but I continue to  

tend to the cows. Everyone else has it covered, and 

it would not do for the cows to be unruly, makes them 

hard to cut. I wonder how close everyone is to being done?