Ingratitude
Will you throw rocks at Me,
the bright full moon,
because I share with womben
the hope-filled belly of dark gestation?
Will you dread the truth of My moon mirror?
Will you mock My mottled face,
jealous of My beauty?
Will you blame Me because
I seem doomed to wane and fall?
Will you fear the necessary waning
of man-made madness into My Lunacy,
My creative sanity?
Will you shoot bullets
at the radiant arrows
of My horned moon’s silver bow?
Will you try to sink My shining boat,
because, like womban,
I rock death in My lap,
cuddle it in My amorous arms?
I suckle life at My twin mammal-breasts,
rebirthing life and growth
from dark to light,
birthing both male and female.
Will you blame and shame Me
for My changes, My wombanly ways?
Will you fear Me, the dark new moon,
calling you to comforting,
because I dream the night?
My womb is healing, containing
the seminal void of what has been,
imagining, visioning the fierce gestation
of what may yet arise.
Will you call My dark demonic,
when light hides, bides, on the other side,
deep inside?
Will you hate Me, Mother of All Hope?
Will you try to trash all life on earth?
© Tamara Rasmussen 2018