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I. The Virgin

Dimpled white dove of a girl,
tell me where did you go
when I opened the little door
to your cage--
did you flutter, supple and blushing
into the half-moon's glimmer?

Floating on the breeze of girlhood,
did you caress the cheeks of new lovers
as you whispered by?
Did you sing the songs they yearned to hear,
those secret virgin songs of canaries
and the pinkest of May's blossoms?

Tell me, virgin, where did you go?

                                                                                             II. The Whore

                                                                          And you, young tigress with
                                                    patchouli-scented heart, how did you endure
                                                     when men exchanged secrets of your naked
                                                                                   body while you slept?
                                                                            In dreams they whispered, 
                                                       "Jezebel," and you clung to the sound of it

                                                              tell me, how did you feed your sweet
                                                                   milky light to moth-men, even as
                                                        your soul's moon waned and drained you,
                                                                             your body devoid of light?
                                                   Who guarded your nymph's soul from harm--

                                                                tell me, whore, who nourished you?

III. The Mother

Mother of mushroom, mother of sprite
tell me how you gave birth to an angel
by the light of the full moon,
squatting on your forest bed of moss and memories
tell me how you became only a flood of nourishment.
A cloud of light. A safe buoy of love 
in the vast, startling sea of the world

and nothing more. Not for your Self. 
When your angels have flown from you,
will you mourn an empty nest?
Will you be broken, or will you be free?
Goddess mother, tell me...

Who will you be?
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