To the Bride

Each god, he weakens your knees
but flees from trouble.

Anchor him to an altar.
Anchor him to your own church.

In a thicket of embraces
enough to clip women in half,
you will have to be killing-strong.

Widow, rise up.

Rip into the world with your teeth.

You are the revenant,
the heart that remains.
Clench every unpredictable beat.

You are a survivor with limited rations, not enough left to keep blind rule-following alive— hard choices to be made.

First, start the bonfire with your rage, incinerating the old life.

Find a way to make peace
enough with the world to stay in it,
to make room for yourself—and others.

Build a new house; shelter us.
Pierce the sky with your steeple
and throw open the doors.

 

“To the Bride” first appeared in Slide a Mirror to Me (Transcendent Zero Press, 2017).

 

 

Image Credits: Daniel Olnes

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