Jenn Avery ~ Grendles Modor

Enter here
only if you dare to
spill the sea-water offal,
whose brine shall swallow you
whole.

My dam frees
its yonic paste, reservoired
in its cockle so long.

Sparkling as tarn loot,
a cave revenge body,
Geat slayer who took my son!

Come, enter here
closer to this form
which is not
mere woman but woman
of the mere.

I spiral horns toward the moon,
unfurl lamina skin like cutlass,
and sabers that you know nothing of.

Child of man –
I am mother of man.

I am not ashamed of death.

Imagine:
a breath held under sea
ages before origin,
then spewed forth
as afterlife.

The afterbirth is breath
you gulp.

Spill my blood, it is but water
returned to a soil that succors
a mother’s souse of vengeance.

This hull,
its cavern of bearing,
exists.

The hero’s rape sword
is no avail, Beowulf.

Witness
how it melts
by the condensation of my most
sopping loin.

 

Jenn Avery lives in New England and writes fantasy fiction, poetry, and academic essays and books. She enjoys wildcraft, sacred movement, dragon riding, and raising strong girls. Bienvenue au Danse, Jenn.