Her gown rattles with every step
shadows settling like the memory
of flesh on curves of ash and ivory
and horn-crowned skulls which rest
on her shoulder and watch
empty-eyed as she walks
through abandoned palaces
and forgotten mausoleums
The train of her dress hisses
against barren earth and scrapes
like sharp nails on stone
and she recalls the stories
old women whispered
in the pews of a cold cathedral
while the men droned on
with their endless demands
for obedience and fertility
Some goddesses know that birth
marks another kind of death
where doom cracks open
the pelvic girdle and splits flesh
apart like an overripe fruit
and ghosts form in ranks
beside and behind their queen
as she glides to her doom
the poison cake dripping
with honey, the blade hidden
in a swath of silk
| Jennifer Crow‘s work has appeared in numerous print and electronic venues over the past quarter of a century, most recently in Not One of Us, Star*Line, and the Along Harrowed Trails anthology. |  |