Song of Saturn
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| selfie by Kelli Lynn |
Some say, Saturine dreams already
saturate us,
set the boundaries by which we live as
slaves to time,
stir the stones up from the Earth,
building the walls which imprison,
the most creative parts of our
consensually conscious mind.
And yet. . . .
In my life I see the sun's bold burning wisdom
light up my little Leo's eyes as he
finds the words to speak.
Doctors diagnose us with depression and
autism,
so I swallow bright St. John's Wort and
know that joy is mine to keep.
When it comes to Mercury, there's
medicine and poison;
my daughter and her daddy bring this
message to my feet.
Through coyote tricks they heal me, and
I always will adore them.
We'll create new stories when the old
ones are complete.
The vanity of Venus
inspires a sense of vengeance.
I look upon her paintings
and want to smack her off her shell.
Then, Libra that I am, I
would just lie beside her,
a face for all my
passions, who knows my secrets well.
Speaking of mystery,
Mother Moon charts my history,
her soft light drying
tears pulled from the sea of my soul.
I bleed into her darkness
and make mushroom magic;
with her steadying
presence, I feel whole.
When I was a young girl,
my father told me stories
of violent and valiant
John Carter of Mars.
Decades later, I wore my
red stockings
while demanding justice in
ANTIFA's march.
Horn of plenty in hand, a
robust and royal man, Jupiter
visits me each Christmas
on TV.
While I take delight in
the sight of how he shows Scrooge to be
present, generous,
wealthy, and free, I still know: Jupiter's not for me.
I am Saturn's child.
Though so in tune with
Mercury, Venus, Mars, the Sun and the Moon,
a grey witch at the
crossroads, I will ever be.
Friend of the Devil.
Midwife of Death.
Devotee to the Crone and
Goddess Kali.
My magic is to
fully embrace my humanity,
to take the sick systems
men have made and
tear them down.