An Unlikely Trio

Stir the soil and wet the ground to await the root,
stir the cauldron and scrape the sides to await the brew,
stir the hairs and part the knees to
await the seed.

Beltane flickers, white side of the veil to Samhain’s black,
Amid the grays of the in-between
The Ancients mix my blood, wash my marrow, and mend my flesh;
In pewter folds of silk spun with gossamer thread
The pulsing howls of orgasm echo the first wails of the newborn.

Through Life comes Death comes Life again.

Anubis to the left and Isis to the right,
masks and breath and scales and wings;
Embalming fluid in Cerridwen’s cauldron,
preserving not my body
that grows then sags and disintegrates like old paper;
but preserving my Self,
that glows then sings, folds and unfolds;

Origami of my Soul.

The damp scented air releases names
not quite spoken and barely heard,
mute and blind
the blade queries,
Truth revealed in mirrors and glitter bombs.

© Pamela V Jones, Beltane 2012