the heirophant has called me back to tradition
late night stripping the bed of its bloodstained sheets
silent embarrassment or shame or frustration that i did not protect the mattress more thoroughly
from the deep red flow seeping from my vagina
as i fetch the bundle of clean sheets from the cupboard
i am passed by with a groggy murmur of thought- my mother did this, and her mother, and her mother's mother
and wonder if one day i might help my child change her bloodsoaked sheets or if the world will end before i can find someone to partner with to raise her
she does not exist yet
a seed dormant beneath the soil
time only moves in one direction
although this world has taught me to beg
whimsily, i ponder that i
i might dye these sheets a different color, how i could buy myself new ones, maybe linen
this maroon gift from the cunt i was born with
will dull to brown and permanent
i don my bed with this cocoon, i will simply observe the rust spot absent of any emotion
no thoughts
and while i am transcending to commune with my ancestors my mother Melany my grandmother Luella
my dog staring at me wondering what the fuck i am doing
it's 4 in the fucking morning