Kate Forsyth
I know
it is frightening
my darling
your body is seeping blood
like a sewer runnel
from the centre of you
red like the trail of some wounded creature
leading in streaks and smears
straight back to the secret
the hidden chamber of you
the besmirched egg
the bloodied key
shackled and padlocked
so each month
at the tug of the moon
that hooded crone
who drags oceans with her chain
who waxes and wanes
who begins in darkness
as you did my darling
and slowly grows her horns
of light
that white goddess
my daughter
the bright sheen
of you
the true poetry
of you
my beloved you
I know
you are afraid
my darling
that people will know
will see
the bloom of blood
on your snow white
knickers
perhaps smell
the metallic tang of blood
copper bright
swamp black
all the time
the heavy knowledge
the awful shame
the sidelong look
the joke the jab
this thing only women do
this thing within you
so small
so seemingly insignificant
a slice of flesh
a kernel of possibility
a seed perhaps
of a lush red flower
a stigma
every month
wrenched free
sliding down
that subterranean tunnel
that fiery river of you
carried away
flushed away
a tiny particle of the universe
blotted out
every month
this reminder
this knowing
every month
that you are made of blood
vulnerable flesh so easily cut
so easily hurt
my hart caught in brambles
pierced with arrows
my sweet hummingbird
crowned with butterflies
choked with thorns
my most beloved daughter
every month
ebbing away
your life force
your curse
yet how can you bleed
when there is no wound?
how can this
harbinger of death
carry life?
I know
It is frightening
my darling
you are becoming a woman
people say
look at you differently
as parts of you swell
become sore
dark shadows spread
dark kernels throb
a body once so swift and light
now knowing pain
I wish
I could say
my darling
it grows easier
you come
to know your own body
you begin
to see
you are not alone
one of
a secret
sisterhood of women
all suffering in silence
in time
you will mourn
its passing
blood magic
flowing from us into the earth
astonishing possibilities
cradled
in the cavity of our hips
roses blossoming
