Gifts

from within
and without
burning in flames, the cauldron
hot, steamy and wet
as dragons breath.
A vortex of hopes, dreams
rage, tears and desolation.
Destruction comes,
the volatile compression
then laughter spewing
from depths unknown, unseen.
In mystic forces spirit guides
this vessel, this flesh
these breasts, hips, pelvis
and pussy through
Medusa’s lair, Aphrodite’s
real, Kali’s hell.
Who am I, was I, are
to be? Sweet child’s surrender
to emerge as woman. Still fragile
still new, still crystallizing in
metamorphosis, wings still sticky
from birth, awaiting the
hardening, the knowing, the skin
to grow over exposed bones.
Alchemy of woman.

with much love from Emma-Clare Ellen Bussell.