Transition

New moon leaves the middle night dark.  Soft grass and bramble take turns against my ankles.  Useless in the woods, my eyes adjust in starlit meadow where the fox waits, panting, and I imagine the low light comes from him.  I lower myself, crawl on my belly, slow and steady lest he flee or become unreal. 

His breath tickles my ear like a sigh, and warmth pools in my nethers.  He stretches out  beside me, ginger hair framing a sharp, pale face.  He pulls me to him, knowing I have come to surrender. 

I am so tired of being human.

Pillar of the Community

Mandear denounced me as barren.  Stood up in the square like the wicker witch, I burned with anger they all mistook for shame.  When cold night came and I remained tethered, I wept.  

He came to me then, the horned one, perhaps mistaking my form for his sacrificial bride.  Leather ties broken by his will, I slid into the comfort of his arms, tears forgotten, and let him make me his fertile home.

Eyes avert at my fecund strength, round, whole, His.  When the child comes, I will slake its thirst with their blood, binding them to the new god.