Perhaps we should have let her burn.
Perhaps the flames were a gift,
a divine invitation to free ourselves
from this obsession with edifice and artifice.
Perhaps if she had burned to the ground,
we might have seen that sacred space
requires no cathedral to exist.
Worship the monstresses, girl;
they are hungry and fathomless.
Feed your rage to Ammit.
Feed your sorrow to Medusa.
Feed your terror to Charybdis.
Lay your howling at the altar of the Nameless
and let her fill you with the cold vacuum of the void.
Worship the beast queens, girl;
they will teach you to devour your oppressors.
tsunami’s skeleton lingers
tanker carcasses, prefab husks
concrete seawall spirit tablets
restless plates rattle memorial bones
decaying half-lives, funereal mud
seventy thousand pine tree ghosts
you ask why I rage
while you toss the leavings
from your chainsaws
on my fires
Beyond rock bottom is the void
waiting to wrap you in chaos.
She is not capable of love;
isn’t that comforting?
“Incitement of the Morrigan”
Warriors, why do you let your weapons fall?
A battle lost is not yet a battle done!
Does the outnumbered wolf bare her throat
to await the killing bite? Never!
She fights until her very last breath
no matter how much blood she’s lost
or how her vision darkens!
Her snapping jaws are ever at the ready
to take one final foe down with her.
Pick up your blades, warriors;
fight with every heartbeat left!
in my dreams
I slit the throats of abusive fathers
my nails sharp as harpy talons
I drag rapists into the streets by their hair
smash their skulls with a silver hammer
I ride laughing through dark woods
on the back of a great goat
I fear nothing
and no one
in my dreams
Forgive my lack of manners, I just /devour/ poetry
can never seem to let it breathe, take a sip
roll the vintage along my pallet and
discern dimensions of linguistic terroir.
I am just so /parched/ you see
I swig straight from the bottle like a boor
each syllable sweet as honeyed wine
divine versification rejuvenation!
But then the last stanza’s been swallowed
metaphors drying on my tongue
and I’m a desert /desperate/ for a drop
pining for poetry’s reprieve once more.
Born under Leo in the year of the Dragon
Ace of Wands embers smoldering in my marrow
I am driven to create, feverish with purpose.
Yet now I prostrate myself upon winter’s wet soil
extinguish my flames, welcome the dark
and let scavengers tear out the choicest sweets.
I shall disperse in beetle bellies, corvid craws
rot down to inert atoms under the moonlight
cease, surrender, stagnate
go still
and silent
and rest.
When your raging heart demands justice
and you can stomach no more sour lies
cry out to the Goddess.
Hers are the swift claws of judgment.
Hers are the red teeth of retribution.
Hers is the molten heart of the sun
that annihilates all shadow.
Even Ra the Great and Powerful
sends forth His bright-burning daughters
when evil demands holy reckoning.
“Fenrir”
What newborn pup could tell
sweet milk from sour
fresh meat from rotten?
I, too, long
to bite the hand that fed me
knowing what I know now.
I am a fragile thing
bone and soft meat
like a mollusc shell I fold over the words inside me
and think, I will protect you
I am not the granddaughter of the witches you couldn’t burn.
I am not the blood of their blood or any of that suburban white witch bullshit.
I am Witch because the title is mine to claim by right:
by right of my rage
by right of my resistance
by right of my existence in a world
that threatens to crush everything I love under the boot heel of assimilation.
You want Burning Times?
I’ll show you some motherfucking Burning Times.
“Is this anything?” I ask
proffering a chunk of flesh
(garnet red, still warm from my depths)
but they have already turned away.
I discard it on the floor
with the others.
look into my eyes;
how can you not see I am
Alexandria’s charred skeleton
Delphi’s discard, Pompeii’s corpse-hollows
a husk of a revenant vomiting
endless bean sí grief-wail?
HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE I AM
A THING ALREADY DEAD?
These dreams of you are
Echoes from my subconscious
Just phantom limb pain
“Measurements”
The picking could be worse!
At least I didn’t make anything bleed today.
Well, this morning.
Okay, in the last hour.
…anything that’s visible to others.
But I promise I’ll be better!
I’ll go cold turkey right now.
I mean, starting tomorrow.
Okay, starting Monday.
Well, the first Monday of next month.
You know,
this would make a great New Year’s resolution.
You will survive this
the Morrigan pronounces
staring into my dull eyes
(fresh-torn cavity
bone shards and congealing blood
you took everything)
but the words are no kindness
only Her battlefield prophecy
impassive and immutable
Now I know you are gone, truly gone
because I no longer hear your voice in my head
that subtle blade which you wielded so expertly to reopen old wounds
and when did you ever miss a chance to remind me of my failures?
Pass by, hungry flames
this land is not yours to consume!
Bast your Mistress stands with me
I command you to pass by!
The Eyes of Ra stand with me
I command you to pass by!
The Netjeru stand with me
I command you to pass by!
I command you to pass by!
I command you to pass by!
I command you to pass by!
You left me lost and disoriented
but Wepwawet guided me safely back to the path.
You left me stripped of all your gifts
but Inanna taught me to stand proud in my nakedness.
You left me barren as a desert
but Hetheru grew overflowing gardens in my parched soil.
You left me exiled in my own soul
but the Morrigan thrust a sword in my hand to win back my sovereignty.
You left me dead and cold
but Bast coaxed a roaring flame from the last tiny ember in my chest.
You left me
but kinder gods, better gods
never will.
I watch my state burn
Blood sacrifice to hubris
And can do nothing
Hot summer evening
You pass in a motel hall
Just going for ice
He eats my sweetbreads raw
garnished with the blood of the lamb
The mercy of cannibalism
a blessing from Satan himself
I make friends with moths
Envious of artlessness
Holiness writ small
It’s beyond salvage
Ashfall shrouding charred ruins
No one’s noticed yet
My muses dumped me
How embarrassing is that?
Rats flee sinking ships
I think perhaps
I am as much a woman as
Scylla with her many serpent heads
Charybdis with her churning waters
Ammit with her long crocodile jaws
all bloody from chewing rotten hearts
which is to say
not really.
“3.11”
I know
It won’t be like Sendai
Different coastline
Different country
But still, I feel beholden to them
Those 70 young lives lost to laxity
And if I let it happen here
If I let us fail our own children
We will have failed Okawa’s as well
There are no natural disasters
Only deaths we could have prevented
Lessons we refused to learn
Ghosts we carry with us forever and hope
Somehow
To do right by
Next time
–
The school beneath the wave: the unimaginable tragedy of Japan’s tsunami – Richard Lloyd Parry
Watch: Tsunami’s devastating impact on Washington after potential 9.0 quake (Komo News)
