The wolf at my door lay splintered and broken
No more howling at wooden moons.
Why fix that? Why mend what bit and choked me?
I no longer need golden crosses and silver spoons.
Lot's wife once salted my tears, stuck and frozen
tributes to grief, stinging open wounds.
Why hold that? Why cling as if I was pain's chosen
child, a wild mourner singing melancholy tunes
over and over and over, being both torch and song
hiding my light behind heavy death masks
Why wear that? Why the ashes and sackcloth
when the time for grief has long since past?
And so Kali came, disguised in storm and wind
ripping off masks, breaking wolves, melting ice,
leaving me naked, bareboned and awakened
I was loved although chastised
by a higher power, her beauty direct. Strong.
Pennies in a plaster shrine glazed in water
welcome new hope, change immediate. Birdsong
heralds the new love. Venus I am your daughter.
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