capernoited
“But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”
She arrived with Her red skin glowing. Luminous and dewy as the field where She feeds.
Blond flowers and nonsensically bushes keep the bees busy. I took pailfuls of lavender to wash my hands. The bushels I dry for a digestive tea.
My stomach has been upset. It’s the new moons announcement and my lining will tear and shed. I accept the cycles yet forget the whispers of the dark until I see blood.
Who comforts you in the waxing hours, Simone? Who did you write to when you felt overexposed?
My therapist loathes any display of weakness. She leaps up in all stripes with claws and fangs like javelins.
My red coat bears no wrinkles. I am puncture-free until she speaks.
There’s no room for waifs in this world.
My grey eyes and flickering smile create and apprehensive appearance. Without a crown who can tell that I am a Queen?
She teaches me a lesson in stillness. Black eyes committed to silence. Absorbing the language through Her presence. High heeled, soft steps, a nose that senses intent before the action.
Do deers cry?
I express my angst by flicking my hair forward and back over one shoulder.
She lifts Her white flag to warn others of impending danger. She flattens it when fearful.
I’ve reduced myself to be loved, Simone.
I am like Her, hidden in a field of wildflowers willing myself to be unseen.
A heart that breathes kindness.
A head full of stories.
An alter to symbolize the sacred.
Antlers to signify the evolution of letting go.
The tide is out with my temper.
My dreams are of Her,
Red Deer Hidden in the Wildflowers.
If you were making love and drinking a $60 bottle of saké, it’s worth it.
Photo source.
