The Ancestress

Her hair’s electric, a shock of power Like sun rays wide in a woodcut In the family furniture, she goes against the grain Her womb has vanished into the mist of a cold region In the weather forecast of time, she’s spring in Winter Cailleach and the Maiden merged in one This is one broth of a girl, a long-nailed fury Whore and nun enmeshed. She rises over cities like a cloud Her tale is the umbilical I dangle from She is peach blossom, moon, and rainbow I think I heard her whisper in my cradle Strange words from ancient birthings, solemn keenings This ancestress could never have been swaddled She’d kick over the traces, give you a run for your money She wears a belt of skulls, and strokes them, tenderly.