The Old Maid laughs inappropriately
At the damnedest of things.
Sometimes she even sings in response
To her matronly sister’s busy questioning.
Having never been a mother
She never stopped being the daughter
Having never been under the wave
She never ceased to bathe
In the water.
And when the earth starts to shake
She does not fear its slaughter.
Artemis peers through her eyes
And throws her towards
The moon.
And when the madness of
Age descends
She’s promised the maid the
Sweetest tunes.
I’m reborn in her fire -
Mistress of the pyre
My quiver is full
And my arrows, they
Are not liars.
Hand not touched
Hair unbraided
Flesh never hunted
My soul?
I saved it
Standing in a shell
Built from the pearl
Of my precious reclaimed purity.
No man comes near
My future:
I am the sole provider
Of the lilies of succor
That grow in the crystalline
Soil of the gardens of new-found
Sisterly security.
I dream of the golden doe and
From my hand wild flowers
Flow.
The golden doe wants
So many things:
Not to be hunted
Nor pierced or skinned
She wants to run and
She wants to jump
She wants to escape
Her fate as a grisly
Bloody meaty lump
She wants to nose a gentle hand
She wants to graze the Arcadian
Meadows
And sleep upon Mycenaen sand.
She wants to glow with her precious
Pelt adorning her own sinewy back
She wants to be free of the man
And his many toothy brutal traps.
Exhaling gold dust she shakes her
Gilded head.
She pities the living and favors the dead.
Yes, the golden doe wants so many things.
She lays by my feet as we travel singing:
“From ancient seas we go
To new uncharted perfect land the
Sacred river flows.”
The Gold Doe Has Seen
The gold doe has seen
The gold doe with toes inlayed
With precious stones, that I gilded
While she dozed
In golden repose.
La doe d'or a vu
La doe d'or aux orteils vêtus
De pierres précieuses, que j'ai dorées
Alors qu'elle dormait
Dans un repos doré.
