Love unfeigned, how can it be
Truly known: by deed or by word?


Take old Sisera for example, my lady,
Who fled with his glittering sword
To the tent of Jael, the beloved wife
Of Kenite, from the face of Barak.
And of her requested he for his life
Water, and she in action was not slack
To offer him milk instead, and did cover
Him again with a blanket. Sleeping in peace,
She crept softly to him with a hammer
And nailed down his temple with ease.
Yet to her did he entrust his safety,
Seeking from the smasher vain security.


Consider Joab, too, how he by his fine
Speech killled Amasa his worthy cousin;
Taking his beard with his right hand
As though he would give him a kiss grand,
Whilst his left hand had a thirsty dagger
Waiting; and he pierced the good feller
Through with his wicked blade. How the tongue
Of men do flatter oft in order to do wrong!

O mother how I grieve you. Survivor of a thousand
Summers, you take your place in the song
Of mothers long past. You are not alone there,
O wise one, your mother, and her mother
Have taken your hand and lead you in to a dream.
A dream where I can not follow.

I think of Otrera the warrior queen, of wives
beaten down only to arise as phoenixes.
O brave Amazon, your legacy lives on in Hippolyta and
Hermia, your wild daughters becoming women.

Beyond her is Jael, O wife of a Kenite, and the
Mutilated corpse of Sisera, the foolish king
Who thought her weak. Your blood waters the
Dust, your handsome face cracked right through
By her mighty blow. O great king, will you
Scorn her femininity now?

When I am weary, I shall think of Elizabeth,
A queen who sunk an armada and reformed
The churches with a single order. Where is
Your husband? You have no need of him.

They are joined by Boudica and
Her wild head of curls. I believe you
Will be good friends O warrior of
Sleepless nights. For you have both
Spat in the eyes of men and defied your
Empires for the sake of freedom.

Sylvia holds your hand tenderly now,
O mother of my youth. Her torment has
Passed now, and so will yours too. For
A dream is too ethereal a place for scars.

I wondered if you would be afraid
When you took your place among the
Mothers of the ancients, and yet time has
Showed me a picture of you, holding court
Amongst them with your steaming *** of
Lady Grey. Graceful as a queen.

Your children who live on in this world
Will remember you. O wise one,
You eat men like air. And like a
Phoenix I will become you.