Monday, April 4, 2011
The Dead Woman Got Up
The dead woman got up--
Thank Goddess for hard rains and fingernails.
Those who would rise, give up black for blue,
Earth for sky.
The dead woman leant against a tree--
Its bark like the skin of a mummy-baby,
But her with no heart to be lured back with,
Exchanging love for leaves,
She can lure no man,
Bear no child;
She doesn't care how clean your house is.
She hasn't got a thing to wear,
She has forgotten her own name,
She kisses the dogs who fight over her bones and names them--
The dead woman gets up--
Spends a week in the underbrush, falling apart,
Skin flaking away, blood turning thick and black.
A changeling, a hoodoo queen, neither virtuous nor innocent
Shines in the moonlight,
Smiles, starts walking,
Not really dead at all.