Rhea

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The mother lives in me

With ice in the corner of my eye
I am the harsh winter
The burden of snow in a shifting world
My place has come undone beneath my feet

I have been speared
The breastbone broken
Thrown back
Bleeding on the battlefield, the victim of the hunt

The mother lives in me
Cultivated by choices I haven’t made
That I cannot claim as mine

I have tended a green garden of a thousand different plants
Sometimes the vines strangle me
Sometimes the fragrance smothers me
But I have never failed to return

As regular as the sun

I have learned alchemy
From these, my children
I have perfected the potion I daily ingest

The mother lives in me
I know because I cannot go
These plants are delicate
So I cannot trust another

The air blazes burnt orange
Filtered by fallen leaves
I hover between imagery and meaning
A kite
On the breeze
Unsure where I will go

The first frost is coming soon
And what omen does that bring?

The Mother Lives In Me
And I cannot say why

I am distracted by these summer skies
The star guides
That which I cannot give name nor substance to

The candle’s end
The charcoal wick
The universe is full of inverted hope
I have died and the warm ocean air has blown my ashes to sea

The mother lives in my
With Typhoid Mary’s touch
I am deathly ill and scorched by fever
Rabbits burning
Their portion done

The mother lives in me
Though I’ve tried to take her out

The end is coming
In the glory of the season
The end is near
When madness reigns

In the days of glory,
I am King

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