eyes of the stars
calling, crying. They
catch her throat. She cannot
hear the fleeting glimpses, night
birds sounding indigo, feathers
holding metamorphosis. But now
the flower has fallen. The raised hand
reaches on a whisper, snaking
through questions, labyrinthine.
Conjure thee O Hera:
invoke ancient song.
Transform what is
Jane Dougherty’s challenge this week was once again a painting (above) and the words: indigo, cry, night bird, fleeting, forbidden
So here’s a woman, a garden, peacocks. Peacocks are sacred to Hera, and a woman in a garden…just rethinking that story a bit.