Goddess 19

I am the shape
of begin.
The loose seams.
The breath,
its canticle.
The sea and her dreams.
I am a luffing tree:
a ship and its creed.
Fish and bird and rain:
torn wings and bleed.
My hair is seaweed.
My heart the ghost
of shell.
I am mermaid, siren,
call.

Goddess 23

My heart the shape
of glove,
a broken hand
a cup of blood.

My womb is a snake
stuffed with flowers
and mud.

And my legs
are blanched birch:
a stand of white trees.

You have prepared
a casket for me,
a chariot and leash.

But, I will rise
like a witch:
her song and feet.
Brooms wild
like a field of wheat.

Goddess 24

My heart
an apple core,
a candle burned low.
Shade of autumn lore.
The seeds
I dry and sow
from broken boughs
and bushels.
I am root and fruit.
I am flower and tree.
I am chest
of tiny drawers:
mourning dove coos
to baby honey bees.

In dreams,
fallen leaves
and a nest of broken
angels: all those wings
and shoes and bleed.

It is Indian summer
and bonfires turn
in the breeze.
Holy smoke rises
like a creed.

Goddess 25

I am a woman
the shape of pear.
I roost like a fruit
in a tree.
A legion of demons below
bear baskets.
Their hands move
like birds
in the leaves.

I am afraid of tribes:
their soft shoes
and creeds.
Their canoes balanced
like prophets
on the sea.

April Bulmer's latest books are Black Blooms and The Goddess Psalms (Serengeti Press.) She also released a chapbook called Life Lines in January (Poetry and Good Cheer Press). April's education is in the area of creative writing and women and religion. She writes about spiritual issues. She lives in Cambridge, Ontario.

Email: April Bulmer

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