god is a woman
and she is angry.

her tongue is a serpent,
medusas mouth,
and her fists are vultures.

seven eyes,
seven horns,
seven doors.

the angels are women too
because only a woman
can weep so much.
someone unfurl her wings,
break the lock.
she is a dove and this
is her olive branch.

in the catholic church only men
can be priests.
but this church,
this gold and silver church,
was built from the bones
of sleek coated mares,
of birthing cows,
of cream skinned ladies in
veils and jewels and wine stains.

ask delilah of samson.
ask jezebel of ahab.
salome of john,
mary of joseph
and magdalene of jesus.

ask the moon of the sun.

ask god about her daughter,
the one still nailed to the cross,
still awaiting birth in bethlehem.
the carpenters daughter
with a wooden stake at her neck.

ask god about her other daughter,
the one in nazareth
still breathing desert air.

ask god about her sons,
sweet lazarus and wild lucifer,
stepping on hot coals
like summer asphalt.

ask god about the forget me nots
pressed to gravestones
in the heat of august.
ask god about the magnolias
wilted against gravestones
in the bite of december.

ask god about the lions,
the goats,
and the lambs.

ask about yourself,
if youd like.

god is a woman
and hell hath no fury
like a goddess scorned.