Tag Archives: nature

The First Time

We planned it like witches,

the ragged cut off shorts that cling

to my thighs like hands

and the soft white cloth


that adorns my virgin flesh like fresh

paint, lightly covering

a shiny new house.

We prepared the potions,


the stew of wine and blood and twigs,

and the yellow of tequila that shall drip

down our stomachs like honey to be licked

and devoured by greedy bees mouths.


The whispers will crescendo to loud chants,

and he will hold me from behind, circling

my ripe waist with his clenching

hands. We will repeat our ritual until it becomes


Alive and real as a doll, black eyes blinking

and voice crying, “hello, will you play?”

without pulling the string. Once she is alive,

the ritual pulls us instead, we lay still


as she strips her clothes and laughs, dancing

and stomping her bare feet around the fire, she breathes

beast like urges between our little legs

until we run on our hands and knees, and rip


our clothes into pieces and swallow

each other’s skin and hair.

When the sacred hour of fusing flesh comes, our frantic

energy subsides, giving way to the slow


trickle of a pain I’ve never felt, of splitting

my legs like chopped wood, leaving bits of shattered

tissue gathered beneath my hips to rot.

The act isn’t holy in the sense of god


but in the sense of something that must

happen, like the spider who must kill

and bury her young in her mate’s limp, warm body,

something which moves her eight legs


from a darkness deep within.

When it’s over, she doesn’t regret

the violence, the ritual, or the killing,

and the male thanks her


from silent lips for sacrificing his body to Mother

and hungry offspring. Like the spider, my first

kneeled and thanked me

for my gift of blood and flesh,


and I grinned and laughed

as I tightened my legs around him like a web.