Sister Dandelion

Blessed Be the Blood

This is a song I learned from Ruth Barrett.

Red River pounding, Red River pouring. Life-giving, all the fishes and lilies, red river red river send silver right over.

Moontime slice, a ray a beam the moonlight seems to baptize me.

Cloth pads absorb pools of red, bled and shed my monthly spool of red thread, I drape it on the rocks of my labyrinth. I built it in my back yard one afternoon this summer, sweat slicking my back, my breasts, my face, laying each heavy stone, Shawna Carol’s Goddess Chant album looping through my headphones, high noon labor of creating a symbolic womb to walk, a cradle, a spiral silver path.

I dream of free-bleeding into the ground, the center sanctuary of the labyrinth, but first! I must procure a skirt to guard against the neighbor’s Catholic eyes.

I will sit crosslegged on the earth, the red nourishment dripping down, a skirt around me like a mountain–I am the Lava inside. My Blood the Lava inside.

In my Red Time my senses acute, the songs of my wild plants sift through and through. A layer peels off the top of the daily mental pyramids, the weight I can lug, the human accumulations.

A layer peels off and I am fresh and raw again, pink and new again, and the moondew runs like birth-tears (rhymes with clear).


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