Desert Rose rises deeply.
Succulents calm coarse sand.
Lemons don’t drop lately.
The goddess speaks to me through their leaves.
I don’t yet know how to listen.
Eyes wet, I wish
She spoke, sure spells
Could help (cold heaven
Sounds awful) so anticipate
Rain, precipitate, roaring pain
Full clouds forget clovers
Cover critters crafting
Covers with clovers
If you’re still, you’ll see them,
you’ll hear the Goddess in their steps.
Here, there lies the beginning of knowing.
I see her
Dance and the trees
Dance and the leaves
Dance and the flowers
Dance and I see
Her move what I cannot. Is this
Magic? I dig
Deep within the goddess, dirt
In my nails, but she never shies away.
She drives down my hands, and I think
Towards her, I want to bury myself here. She
answers, could I do it?
Witches breathe underground
Dead to some, but not to all
Though light is absent warmth is not.
I love the goddess for this resilient power
That has been there from the start of being.
Kristina Dover is a senior St Johns College, published in Stone of Madness Press, Energeia, and The Feminist Wire. She’s a witch, comrade, and friend.