The Original Swastika
Look for it on Thor’s hammer,
shards of Greek pottery, silk tapestries
from old China. Whittled by Ukrainians
in spans of mammoth bone, sewn
into the feathered gowns of Quetzalcóatl.
Raised rune over the Buddha’s heart.
Crest of the early Christians
who borrowed from the very Romans
they were hiding from, long after
its axles and rays symbolized rebirth
in the belly of a Trojan goddess.
In Hinduism, marking thresholds and doors.
A Navajo prayer for good fortune,
a metaphor balancing mountains and rain.
Sometimes backwards, sometimes not.
Sometimes, the arms are replaced
with a woman’s blowing hair.
Sometimes the tips end in playful swirls
to symbolize migration. Luck
tattooed in lime, scattered
on the pewter coins of Gaul.
Ages before the cross or the ankh,
before black snow piled on the hoods
of German sedans, this one symbol
spread across oceans. A genetic dream.
Our birthright, our redemption—fueling
the pyres of all we’ve already lost.
