Luna

We will rise up
Like winged serpents
Like hanged goddesses on the poles of Asherah
Erased
But not forgotten
Because after all these years
Eons
We are still fed the bleeding hearts
The maidens weeping over their lost loves
The crones who cackle over stone hearths
The tiny girl-babes bouncing on the knees of mothers who know there is
Somehow
More than this.
We feed
And we laugh
And we raise our arms up to our Mother
The Moon
And we know that
Even though she is silver and made all of stone
She hears our weeping
Our cackle
Our cry out...

She hears.