I’ve knelt on the stone
and eaten bread from the street
with the oppressed classes
and the opiated masses
and all of their brothers
marching feet…

 

 

Pomegranate Seeds

daughter O daughter
have you eaten
have you eaten
of the fruit
from the world below?

mother O mother
I have wandered
alone all night
and alone all day
I came to a city
and there I did eat
the fruit of men
with feet of clay
shuffling in circles
down by the bus stop
their jeans smelled of urine
their jackets of wine
their suits smelled of money
on corporate time
their cocks smelled of lies
their skin smelled of cash
I licked a salt tear
and swallowed a laugh
and I gave them a name
I forgot the next day.

but daughter, my daughter
you did not swallow?
the seeds of the fruit
from the world below?
long have I grieved
since you were lost
the fields won’t bloom
they can’t pay the cost.

O mother you are late
You are late
with this song of woe
long have I slaved
with the yes and the no
with no ground below
and no help from above
long have I worried
over money and love
from the stage to the hot tub
with the man of my dreams
I have swallowed and gagged
on what is not what it seems
it was salty and good
it was bitter and bad
it had me, it held me
I was ripe.
to be had.
I have sworn I won’t eat
of the fruit of the vine
till I eat it with you
in some other world
so I’ve starved at the banquet
and forgotten my name
and dissolved into dust
with the flowers in the lane
I’ve gone topsy-turvy
with the bull in the barn
and I’ve painted my body
with gold from the mine
I’ve knelt on the stone
and eaten bread from the street
with the oppressed classes
and the opiated masses
and all of their brothers
marching feet.
And yes, I have swallowed
the seeds that you seek.

then my daughter, you must wander
forever between the earth and sky
never wholly rooted
in either world
not quite a wife, not quite a whore
your legs wrapped around
the earth’s molten core
your brain cells scattered
across the heavens
pleading with Pleiades
to sing once more.

O mother, you are late,
you are late
with this show of grief
long have I known
of this split in the world
below the seed, above the leaf
in the sun the woman
her smile unfurled
a garland of praises
a robe of white satin
below the girl,
alone with her blood
shadowed by curses
unrobed and unsung.
now Mother comes
weeping and wailing

“how far has it gone
has it entered your womb?
how far has it gone
is the taste on your tongue?
O daughter my daughter
is the damage done?”

through this crack in this world
I swallowed his seed
and I was long confused
between my want and my need
I know they call me a goddess
because they think I am dead
but I know I’m a goddess
because I still live
because I descend and I give
to the now and the then
the where and the when
the movement of sunlight
in flowery glades
between the streetcorners
in the gutters of shades
because I wander & wonder
& spread myself thin
because I kneel to Hades
and reach to the moon
and my thighs are lutes
for the stringer to tune
FOR I am the harvest
and I am the wheat
and I make the lips
of each lover to meet
for I hold the key
and I light each shade
and I must heal each soul
before I can fade.
My limbs are all fruits
for the picker to prune
my toes all a twitter
like birds in the spring
my fingers grown diamonds
to sow in the sky
they shine like angels
‘tween the whixst and the why
The damage is done.
The seeds are sown.
it was bitter, it was sweet
you are what you eat
I’ve been down here all winter
and I call it home
but Mother don’t Fear
my Husband is Near
with a hey and ho
and a hey nonny no
with a ring and a ding
and a tring a ling ling
oh how we will dance
and how we will sing
oh how we will dance
and how we will sing
oh how we will dance
and how we will sing

when I return
in my Turn
On my own
In the spring.

Anna Wolfe