The Second Act

Like a pig to slaughter, I grip and I cry. It’s more than release, it’s an offering at my own altar. It has no sound, only warm, dark expanses and simmering, shimmering honey fills my throat.

I subscribe to no mythology. I let the primordial ones sway, tie knots, undo them, undo me, the string of my life. The Titans and the Fates, all seeing Norns at the base of the great tree, hardly invested – just curious. And it’s enough right now.

I don’t think and I am not. More animus than woman, my lust and hunger are unwarranted, unstudied and unwanted. To myself and the chaos, an offering of me explicitly desired to be understood.