Hobos wail a garbage can against the cyclone links. The monkey puzzle tree droops its scaly tails above our heads as she sets up near the zoo’s bonobos, humping happy in their cages close to chimps ripping off each other’s ears. And in the cloud reposing on the sky, cut by an F22’s long hookah puffs, the cyan atmospherics rupture into solarized platelets: her Ray-Bans foil my own face back at me: A time of renewals though somewhere dark cold woe You won’t know what’s what Comes a taste of sea to make her pause, and marine gusts slice and spook her cards, my cards, that ﬂurry to the sidewalk, near the barred gate, breaking fortune down faster as she speaks. Source: Poetry (June 2009).
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."