Every metal beast believing its demon worthy
Of being last to leave and first to arrive.
Truncated forests reduced to boundary line.
People, once awoken, see themselves veering into the islanded field
Declaring the reed and grass as heartbeat and home.
Why do painted lines obey the cars?
House of worship.
Calling on our dear providence, weary of weakness induced,
We supplicate that which we already possess.
Voices, only male, trilling dominance as salvation.
Female in form: Madonna or whore
Forced without choice, patterning our birthright.
The mantle we strive to shoulder pleasing and, in failing,
Burn it unmourning as defiled as we are.
She traces outlines in the fogged mirror.
Razor thin edges of who she, wisp, idolizes.
Body worthy only in breast and hip and ratio
Of pregnancy to submissive glance.
Her appeal loose flakes to her self-love.
Silver-hair and wrinkle holy gifts
She banishes same as bare flesh to contour.
You count first the outcasts, then the leaders, then lastly, the judgmental ones.
Knowing full well to count thrice.
You widen your vision to encompass the uneven horizon
Declaring your name and all the sharpened shards who, molten, forged you.
Uttering actualities until nearby the birds pause and squirrels cease chatter
Nature curling up breathing the air of sovereignty embodied.
You believe your feet to tremble but roots encircle, collecting, as they descend.
Transforming midst gates of Inanna and Persephone
Underwater, under world that demands my sacrifice.
All the while eyes forward, lean into the weight
Of boulders cast of shame.
I thought the scenery was superfluous.
Now, branch and pebble and bird feather are
Substance and bone of my offering.