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.