blog description

Old women talk about old things: history, myth, magic and their
checkered pasts, about what changes and what does not.

Sunday, February 5, 2012


The moon protrudes from the night sky
like the jaundiced white of an eye
or a single breast of the Goddess
but cold and windowless
for Luna wanes
the dominion of the Crone
Impervious Athena
Who would approach that stony orb now
in search of nectar?

Mother, how shall I find You
swathed in Your red sari
crouched among the bodies
of demons You have slain
All-knowing, omniscient Lotus
my every action dangles like a curse from Your waist
From the river of Your ancient womb
will you feed me the elixir of Morpheus
for my memories are tainted with gasoline
and all I can smell is saffron burning

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