I once mistook the fresh soil
you poured
down my throat
for butterflies.
But love should not
crawl
deep inside you
And tie
your vocal chords
in knots.

Gardens now infest my lungs
in the same ****** place
where you carefully
dug yourself
a grave.
I make bouquets
with the flowers
that burst
from the rotting marrow
of your
bones.
            —“your absence taught me fertility”

When once I was a child quite young
I heard a silent song unsung.
Sweet echoes now it brings to me
Yet fruitless fruits they seem to be.

Ashes
love's sacrifice
remnants of a message
fertility

Air's gift to Earth



Alexandra Coates
13 May 2019

It's a tradition, an old superstition
the night is hot
we'll go and do it
as soon as everyone is asleep
we sneak out of the house

leaving our husbands
as to take a ***

It is not far to the rock
with the flat stripe of white
In the light of the moon
we *** indeed
with laughter

while ******* for the picture
because we want to have proof

We slide our **** warm
over the pale stripe in the middle
of the Chilchliflue. Landed
in the grass, we feel
with each other

for the beginning
of a baby in our belly

Mary Mary
quite contrary
Once the girl that never cried
You were Mary Beaton
And pretty Mary Seaton
And simple Mary Hamilton they all saw die.

Mary Mary
so you cry
To see the flames take breast and thigh
But heart takes hold for a thousand souls
Who hear their blasphemy no more.

Mary Mary
take his hands
And put them on your swollen waist
Make him love you
Make him touch you
Feel the phantom babe within.

Mary Mary
haunted face
The chapel so bereft of grace
curse Our Lady for her place
as she quickens see the kick
and your barren womb below.

Mary Mary
echoes call
the ghost of hopes that haunt the hall
Your darkened chamber lonely cast
reluctant lord to break the fast
two bodies strangers
one unchaste.

Mary Mary
sickened lie
the blood between your legs belies
the death that grows within your womb
around you languished hopes are strewn.

Mary Mary
So you die
with painful breath and blinded eye
The ****** takes your place at hand
with fecund fertile ******* she stands
to suckle the nation you could not nurse
for surely, you bore your mother's curse.

In the quiet of the morning, heavy with mist, rabid with scents
a woman settled in the copse meditating amongst the fleeting mice
and secretive rabbits, the bee and butterfly. What was she thinking
of on such a humid day? Her features relaxed, a smile lingering
over her lips, eyes opening and shutting ritually,
the sun poking its frazzled head above the half-light, the grass
heavily hung with dew. This was our goddess, still alone, still alive,
a thousand years after her demise, battered by crosses and incantations,
holy water and an ever-present authoritarian god searching the land
for sacrifices. I watched for several hours.
In that time, that uneventful time, she grew older, flesh flaking away from her opaque bones,
the sun slicing through. Within hours,
her presence vanished, earthbound, seeking to emerge once more within the millennium
exhorting religion's timely death; with once again irrepressible love, life and joy
freely restored. As darkness fell
her shade morphed into a seed, sinking slowly into the soil.

Their bed is a battlefield:
Sheets drenched with sweat,
The smell of renewed hope,
Pulses slowing.

Wide eyes pierce the ceiling,
Bright with what might be -
The thought of something forming
Deep within.

Hope fades at the lamp click.
Blackened silence fills the room
But neither one can sleep,
Not right now.

Lost in Google late at night.
The glow of false hope forums -
Stupid acronyms and
Fake concern.

****-soaked sticks in bathroom bins;
The clang of disappointment
Ringing through the house.
This stops soon.

not only for Christians
ideas of coming back to life

    like older myths
    of fertility and rebirth

are infinitely attractive