The mouth in the clouds opens
into a universal scream
because there is no space
for a dream
-ing of future, places, tense for little girls;
Ripped from the bosom of the Mother
then forced unto a Father whose
hellfire and damnation
damned the father to disconnect
from all that is truly holy and
created a new hell.
The African Queen roars
for the pain of her pride,
ripped from the ground and the head of the vessel
that brings the birth of the next generations
shatter
-ing the chalice and creation of pleasure
for the pursuit of power
structures that inhibit growth
beyond the perpetual pregnancy
of what freedom might feel like.
Morrigan speaks her pain
and power and self into being through
a mortal man
who would like to remain mere
-ly quiet, in his soft bubble of
self and softness
while injustice reigns.
La Madre
is honored for false virginity but
isn’t for the power of her presence
and presents of peace–her daughters’
virginity transformed into whore
by greed and with gusto.
We cry “Save the Mother”
theatrically
but conspire to keep her children
in the depths of torment upon the
first forced parting of their thighs…
saying, “Shhhhhh…..”
Selling them shortened lives and
into chains of bondage and fear
Now, though, Wakiyan are called to walk
with Pratyangira,
angels and devas dive into the
world of the eagle embodied
bringing together iron and thunder
trident and truth.
The Silk Lady’s red ribbon
drips and twists from heart to
heat,
stoking the fire of
the Furies
and, where it meets her feet,
Aphrodite is reforged.