Mourneress/Poetess

The city calls me. This time I have to answer, I can’t let the dream crack apart again.

I am terrified because everything will change. I am also excited by this.

The dream is weak, hardly alive, born too early. I cup the small thing in my hand and exhale— slowly, slowly breathing strength into it——

This dream I will nurse until it’s ready to walk, to lead me away from the life that shrinks around me

Ritual of sorrow begins,

I am alone, torn

Waiting for the end

Waiting to be reborn again

Terrifyingly anew

I hide from shadows that crawl

Along the littered, burned-out room of memory

I cast precious stones into the ashes

Hoping for communication and release

For a lost one’s finger to draw up in shape,

To show the direction I must go

Think you know my mind

As if my skull were glass

Broken in half

I truly love this woman in all her flawed glory… she has such rage and beauty and tenderness and treachery. She truly is Aphrodite in the original, pre-simplified myths: both a love goddess and a goddess of death, a harbinger of beauty and pleasure and the black widow killer of love all at once.