What Does a Goddess Look Like?

She is tuber­ous ter­ra­cot­ta,
She is gold­en twins,
sacred vio­lins,
nap­py tri­an­gles tucked
at the meet­ing of thigh and belly

snakes swung in the air
arms raised in prayer
or fold­ed over chests
lus­trous leaves of bend­able gold
made into crowns and hon­ey bees
dou­ble-head­ed axes, echo of but­ter­flies
trans­formed in the cocoon of her womb

seals of gold with the god­dess
hold­ing court under the tree of life
float­ing over the cou­ple in sacred con­ver­sa­tion
pro-cess­ing toward the priestess

Our great moth­er of the grain bin
respon­si­ble for grow­ing the wheat,

What does a God­dess look like?

She is old and rests on the rock,
feet braced apart,
hunched in grief
arched in anger
Hands smash­ing stones
against the iron feet of thun­der gods

She is regal
mam­mals mount­ed on her skirt
grapes clus­tered at the col­lar­bone
breasts lined across her chest
lions on her arms

Our great moth­er decon­struct­ed
into male fan­tasies and re-gathered,

What does a God­dess look like?

The flow-stone of Pam­makule,
The Dicteon Cave of Psy­chros,
The dunned plains of Ana­to­lia
the fruit­ed plains of mid-Amer­i­ca
The quak­ing aspen,
My lover’s hand

What does a God­dess look like?

Her silken hair-robed majesty
stand­ing on a sea shell
chil­dren bal­anced on her many breasts
milk, water, mixed with blood
in bar­reled bel­ly fold­ed flesh
round red vase

our young moth­er pulling patience from the air
bedrag­gled hair
the women stack­ing shocks of corn
legs scratched by chaff
the women mak­ing love in dread­locks
sweep­ing floors sweat­ing sum­mer heat

What does a god­dess look like?

She looks like you,
she looks like me,
she looks like us joined
in sacred conversation.