Hekate Sings to Demeter: Full Moon 1

Sister, I am your shade.  I cannot visit you.

Your sunlight scalds my eyes. 

My vision departs before your brightness.

I try to imagine daylight: 

it is a jeweled dream to while away the emptiness of summer.

Every individual’s a blade of grass,

a bouquet blooming in your meadow lap:

I am the humble nest of interwoven roots and earth

nourishing all of life.

I am the root of the tree of life,

greater than trunk and branches.

Your crown is blazoned with flowers and fruit,

butterflies, rainbows, birds in mating plumage.

I am the alchemist of all your riches. 

Your breasts drip milk and honey;

my breasts are withered leather.

But your cornucopia, your horn of plenty,

flows from red caverns between my dark legs.

I am the basket that holds your bounty.

Your world is the sun-warmed tip

of my submerged iceberg.

I am the womb of time and space,

timeless, eternal and infinite.

I am the wheel

on which the bowl of heaven and earth is turned,

and mine the muddy potter’s hands.

I am the crucible and transformer,

the forge, hammer and anvil.

Queen of darkness and loss and lack,

of entropy, chaos, decay and death,

all in the service of resurrection,

I cut off the head of reason for reasons of my own.

I drink the menstrual flow of change.

I bathe in the dust of un-being.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018