Immortal

Heather A. Sullivan

I spun at Woodstock,
untying mud smeared flesh in
swirls of colored sound,
each widening sphere,
loosening the hold of hem and haw.

Swimming in vapor,
my words held power,
Pythia,
hair on end,
this ecstasy.

Priestess of Athena,
I submit to the weaving,
take the warp and weft,
lay my body on the loom.

At last,
the moon calls,
strapping on sandals,
my terrifying radiance,
Inanna,
untiring,
we dance.


Issue 1 : Fall, 2016