pennyroyal oil tea

I have woven webs

of intricate lace and dust

into my wedding dress,

my wounds are painted in lipstick

and blush,

evensong burns on my tongue .

(Y)our  church rocks

in the wind

under the force of earth

rupturing,

 venting spirits

caught in her belly,

children never seeing light

day – night – dawn dusk,

dreams resting on fingertips

Superstitious women    

forced heather into my hands,

they saw me

standing silent at the lake

watching fireflies,

pathos in indignation.

Twisted claws -

my hands un-ringed,

cramp claims them for its own.

Where has my potassium gone,

magnesium sulphate mutes my voice

when I am lost at sea.

When I was younger we sat

drinking pennyroyal,

kissing the sun before I discovered

running with the wolves

through fields,

snow covered from September.

First frost coming

before the fashion of men

under my quilted blanket,

should I have folded back

upon myself to accommodate need

 restless under the many folds

of placid skin

Pieces have scattered to the wind

torn from my book of prayer,

I cannot remember

(Mother) Maria whispering in my ear

words of Latin tangled in my hair,

I remember her palm

across my face.

Tenderness or torment

My mind twists around your

even voices,

sane so they say

standing over in contemptuous robes

The funeral possession is slow

low to the ground,

I can be cruel

I don't know why.

Birds circle over head

waiting for bones

to become frail,

we shall all lay here alone

at some point,

slowly disappearing

into the earth