See How the Goddess Reaps
as seeds apportion her womb,
spark labyrinth crops to
plow life back, then forward
within, outside of time.
She shores sap tails to be rattled
awake with lugubrious chants, potions,
watches whorls that feed our arms,
our lank souls, through nuptials,
childbirth, wrapped lengths
of the moon cycle, around which
she squats to birth, breach labor, while
umbilical cords, like snakes, writhe.
Oh, she loathes the cut-off
from each leaf, pebble,
magpie, snail, narwhal,
but resists cloying.
Humans in hubris stop
her in her tracks:
their spoil truncates her beauty
once primed by each eye, that
pride of clay handiwork, such
destruction, loss, pain sieved
through warped looms--
Still, she presses on.
Theresa A. Cancro writes poetry and short fiction from Wilmington, DE. Dozens of her poems have appeared internationally in online and print publications including The Artistic Muse, The Rainbow Journal, Leaves of Ink, Plum Tree Tavern, The Heron's Nest, A Hundred Gourds, Presence, Wild Plum, High Coupe, and Pyrokinection, among others.