To the lover who left us behind to go wandering, thank you for leaving a black-hole void in our bellies that ached so persistently we had no choice but to fill it with our own molten power poured straight down from the heart-crucible where self-love still bubbled.
Squint and look at them close, my love, and you’ll see I’ve written the last to-do list you’ll ever need on these whimsical sculptures.
I built this walled garden to be my sanctuary from the likes of you, and, if my boundaries threaten you so much, you best be on your way.
She shows me a worldwide storm, and she names women the ambassadors of holy disruption. She shows me tribes of righteous feminine agents wearing bloody flower crowns and showing their aching parts to each other.
You are the medicine woman unleashing a banshee’s cry at the old men marching outside of the abortion clinic. You are the Maiden dancing a body-prayer for clean water, and you will not rest. Your wrath is holy, and you won’t stop howling.
Here, in the realm of fallen angels, I am accepted into your warm arms as a freak and heathen, and you are permitted entry into the temple of my body as the Holy Shadow.
Thou shalt honor the wolf within, for the dark Primal Feminine is hungriest on these days. Let us leave this place now and run through the forest wailing like mischievous banshees. The ghosts will not judge us if we get on all fours and unleash enraged howls at those who have wronged us, so let ...