Hera Renews Her Youth by Patricia Monaghan (From the Salmon Press publication, Seasons of the Witch) Now is the time that I choose. Hermit winter is over, my widow season. I want lust now, endearments, longing and song. The trees on the hillside renew themselves as I do. Oh, my grand thick trunk that holds me stiff so my tassels and catkins can fly! Oh, I’m drunk with my greenness again! Every branch has budded before, has flown into leaf and then blanched into fall. But I’m new in my bones when I choose, I’m blood-young again, I rise fresh as washed granite from foam, I love whom and when I choose. Here I stand, pomegranate in hand, ripe as a bud but old, old as rock, unshakeable now, a power essentially female and free. Hold my ripe breasts. I’ll be gone in an hour.
Posted on: Mon, 22 Jul 2013 14:32:59 +0000
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