Mama

There is a look of nightmares about her face.

Or is it the fact of many days?

She dresses for the days.

Each foot in a special shoe.

A great blue stone for the third finger,

A silver asp for the fourth.

In the labyrinth of her heart

She crushed the supple power and single loin of serpent love.

She is a priestess, Virgin, Queen.

She is a little girl on a hill

Overlooking a river in Tennessee.

She is the orphan of her parents muse .

And yes! the child of their love.

The white wine she pours in the casual visitor's glass

Gives meaning to the errant pilgrim's fast.

And sets his feet on the road to canterbury

Or is it Marrakech?

When but a maiden she found her man in the mountains.

Their vows said, deep in the marriage bed

She found he bled

From wounds his armor gave.

Risking the wrath of the ancestral gods,

She tore it from his body...

He rose from the bed, a young healing wizard

Naming the name of his mother's curse.

She has sent her four children out:

Two into fall, one into winter and one into spring.

Summer she holds sacred for her young healing wizard.

And now in retrospect we see

Nightmares are but minions in her quest

For the serpent's head.