Scary bunny I am an angry bunny, foot Stomping, ears Twitching, brows furrowed, shine In my pink eyes. I defend my rabbit friends to the Death with sharp teeth and strong Curved claws digging, digging
How far To China?
My home is in the soil Cool & soft & deep
Packed tight all summer with rough paws These round halls contain those I love Home is curled in a dry Nest With you
Yellow feathers, fur of wolf, fauns’ eyelashes
Lull to sleep I built this paradise myself Dug all the way and hopped the Great Wall Looked the hawks in the eye as they swooped Down for my neighbor’s babies Still pink, eyes yet to open And I looked away after I
Gnawed off their wings, as struggle made way to a helpless release, as They gave up the fight. I watched the gleam fade from their deadly eyes.
Of all I was able The one I loved the most I could not save
My whiskers quiver, Spider webs, sticking and so sheer they’re invisible but you feel them nagging on A scratch, a pain you will search for decades
Warriors do not feel fear at all
Describe the boundaries of what makes you feel safe How will you sleep, knowing your babies rest Sweetly with small breaths and fluttering noses Glow-in-the dark moons and stars
I will protect you
I’ll see you play in the sunshine tomorrow morning Holding hands, sipping dew drops from sunflowers Blushing with yellow pollen on your white cheeks Nectar when you kiss me Read you a little book tonight Fluff your daffodil tail Paint black lines on your eyes Gather twigs Well water from a mossy pail Open your hutch tonight, okay? Gloves over chicken wire, I’ll be there by midnight String over throat
I climb in trees fate is thin branches hold a girl’s weight toll of a bell sway in the turn of seasons cling to the metronome wonder just how far over these old houses can I see how far can this branch bend take me towards the earth and back into space again spring me in and out of reality life exists between sky and earth life within girl in leaves and roots in soil death exists.
Doesn’t know doesn’t care where she will rest
She Swings. Allows fate to toss dice. Lets the wind make up its own mind. Sails or no sails. Swings Climbs trees Scrapes on Forearms Thighs Thick bark in hands rough feel my skin
Just as I am
See me as the girl in trees
Now in trees equidistant she is the connection of heaven and earth
I place a crown upon my head goddess of in-between connection meeting point electricity communication alliance
Sacred heaven mother earth I hold you to my cherished chest
Sacred body Magdalena’s earthly presence carried in silks across continents shared in a hush, in a cry, in a joyous song in the net in leaves catch the sun hold tight my moon crown glints night and day water, dark star dust floats through the fabric
I am on earth.
Held in comfort my arms bear, rejoice, uplift, empower
I stand firm feet in soil Hair wild and tangled in the wind
Chelsea says she’s invited to the Viking Camp of Stone Wolf Coven, says they told her to stop by if she heard drumming in the night, and I can come if I walk with her by her tent first to drop off her swimsuit and pick up her smores supplies to share at the Stone Wolf Fire.
Terror is equal to a molten curiosity in me. A cloudy night, darker than you’d ever walk back in the city, dark as entering a great sea. A post ritual exhaustion thick in the air, but radiating and smoldering coals burn on a few more hours into the night. Chelsea, the lamb in the darkness, her small lamp spilling across faded grass as she leads us on.
I’d loved her as soon as I saw her, felt her rush and she is so much like Rachel I can’t hide the magnetic pull. We’d met just the night before at Gryhpon’s Nest Camp in Springfield, Louisiana, maybe an hour and a half drive from my home in New Orleans but you have to watch the Baton Rouge traffic. My fourth stay at this private campground, with my Pagan community for the sacred holiday Imbolc which doubles as my birthday and I now have 30 years.
All the way to the back of the property she leads me, brave and focus ahead, says we need to look for the big tires: the true entrance to the camp. Bare feet find twigs and we navigate through partially trodden bushes and briars that have been gently parted over and over again and lull loosely back into place.
murmer of voices in the near distance.
Chelsea turns off her small light and slows her steps. A warm light illuminates her brassy blonde
hair and our bare feet are grateful to find a straw softer than I knew existed,
covering the large area in a thick blanket, freshly placed down as a soft and
holds a last weakened vine open like a curtain for me, as the low murmers fall
to a sudden halt and we are left with the songs of crickets and we know we are
being watched, they know we are here.
My fear grows to an almost unbearable pressure but it is too late to turn back, we see their figures, pale faces offset with dark hair and dark clothing. They circle tightly around a large cooking fire, wooden shields and bright flags hung from the makeshift walls. A maze of temporary buildings fill a large dip in the field that is Gryphon’s nest, they stay close to the Cypress Swamp that circles us. In a collective trance they gaze deeply into the fire, ritual plants wearing off and a welcome back to ordinary reality. Women in chairs with young men on the straw floor, leaning back into the women’s laps.
Animalistic terror but I cannot turn back and Chelsea is with me, she would not hesitate to step through the fires of hell for a lunch with Hades. Tired Viking men maintain a loose grip on their handmade axes, carved with protection sigils.
The Viking king stands to give us a booming welcome with an order to make ourselves at home. Warm, and fetching us his personally aged burnt honey mead, served in a bison horn and passed around. The men shuffle their seats to offer us the best spot by the fire, passing us apple wine and a pipe. The young Vikings pick up their conversation, lightly teasing and joking with each other. Chelsea insists I tell of the 2 dreams I had the night prior, as they are a popular tale circling Gryphon’s Nest this Imbolc holiday. I flush at the attention but speak as they watch me. Smiling, they poke fun at my eels and we laugh together.
When Chelsea’s marshmallows emerge, a man is commanded to fetch us roasting sticks, which turn out to more resemble harpoons, and the soft candy looks comically small, stabbed and perched above the flame. The king declares his boar brought out, and a large shank, hooves and hair and all is placed on the fire and he sits back, satisfied. He speaks with me for a long while as his wife dozes next to him and sweet young men shyly meet my eyes from across the heart of the fire.