to flash and burn dead fairy tale flesh
Sage Bloom Song
I want a thunderstorm.
I want it dark and purple
with a rumbling like the cry
of war from Cihuacoatl’s belly
boiling and rolling-angry sky.
I wish for a storm that hasn’t
been seen for a hundred years,
livid and loud with a rage
of ages full of screams and
blood-letting
the kind that fling snot and tears
and saliva all at once,
defiance made fluid
unapologetic and dirty with the sound
of remembering what and who you were.
Woman.
Before man-no shrinking
no changing, no fucking quarter, know
THIS
Woman, telling him she would kill
him if he raised his hand to her
while she watched her sisters take
beatings, plums rotted in the sun
until their cores were so
empty
that the only things left to fill them
were soft apologetic shrugs and
murmurs shared over Sunday dinner.
Before defeat, with ploy and plot,
digging to the heart, to your real heart
the one
BEFORE
you gave it away,
tearing it and trailing it
behind you as if it were a goddamn
loaf of bread.
Woman, with heart of crumbs
crumbling with the
tragic romance of it all,
sacrificing goddess and warrior
for insipid Jane Eyre.
Colonized and subjugated
perfumed and bathed
so as to cover the scent of sex
and yearning for touch and closeness
coupling
where it actually means two
people together, steeped in
puckish defiance and secret nonsense,
where true love does not mean
trying to see for someone who is
blind-to you.
I want lightning and thunder
to flash and burn dead fairy tale flesh,
I want the shaking of it to kiss you awake
Sleeping Beauty.
I want a storm to end it all,
for all of us-the embarrassed excuses
the mundane predictability
a story played out by generations
of women who cannot find the
HERO
within themselves.
This is a poem by catelin. Her writing is visceral.
Thank you
I want a thunderstorm.
I want it dark and purple
with a rumbling like the cry
of war from Cihuacoatl’s belly
boiling and rolling-angry sky.
I wish for a storm that hasn’t
been seen for a hundred years,
livid and loud with a rage
of ages full of screams and
blood-letting
the kind that fling snot and tears
and saliva all at once,
defiance made fluid
unapologetic and dirty with the sound
of remembering what and who you were.
Woman.
Before man-no shrinking
no changing, no fucking quarter, know
THIS
Woman, telling him she would kill
him if he raised his hand to her
while she watched her sisters take
beatings, plums rotted in the sun
until their cores were so
empty
that the only things left to fill them
were soft apologetic shrugs and
murmurs shared over Sunday dinner.
Before defeat, with ploy and plot,
digging to the heart, to your real heart
the one
BEFORE
you gave it away,
tearing it and trailing it
behind you as if it were a goddamn
loaf of bread.
Woman, with heart of crumbs
crumbling with the
tragic romance of it all,
sacrificing goddess and warrior
for insipid Jane Eyre.
Colonized and subjugated
perfumed and bathed
so as to cover the scent of sex
and yearning for touch and closeness
coupling
where it actually means two
people together, steeped in
puckish defiance and secret nonsense,
where true love does not mean
trying to see for someone who is
blind-to you.
I want lightning and thunder
to flash and burn dead fairy tale flesh,
I want the shaking of it to kiss you awake
Sleeping Beauty.
I want a storm to end it all,
for all of us-the embarrassed excuses
the mundane predictability
a story played out by generations
of women who cannot find the
HERO
within themselves.
This is a poem by catelin. Her writing is visceral.
Thank you