The Second Death-Maiden to Mother (Poem)

A second death,

a subsequent cessation of innocence,

a shroud of lessons learned,

like a second skin.

Say molt,

say transform.

Open your mouth to let fall,

those teeth made of youthful stardust,

broken by the dense hide of the years,

for they were never meant to tear so much meat...

And so you have starved.

Say toothless,

say bloodstains,

on pillows,

like when you were young,

and the pixie came with silver for every milk white baby tooth you left her.

But this time. It is Death.

Say waking in the dark,

say resuscitated,

say nightmares,

like ancient flavors,

the iron of blood mixed with earth,

and secrets,

now known.

You are new forms,

new flesh that run on four legs.

Say tug and pull,

out of your flesh.

Say tail,

your tale.

Say howl,

say strain,

say grow.

The pain of becoming: dangerous.

No longer made of God's stardust,

now formed of matted fur and blood,

with claws for all the places you will hunt.

The pain will pass,

and you will know so much more than you did before.

Say clever,

say wise.

Say alive,

like a landslide.

Say aware,

say knowing.

Say I have not forgotten the lessons.

Say I have made my bones about them.

Say roots,

now wild in tooth and claw.

Fangs,

pushing out from pink gums.

New.

A second set.

Say teeth,

newly formed,

following the second death.

So much sharper than you remembered.

Say savage.

Say eat.

Say I will eat.

Say all the better to eat you with, my dear.

bvk, 2019.