the monthly sacrifice



the crucifiction of the emotions
the sacrifice of the blood
the pain of the black crow eating at our brains
alone, at the top of the mountain
the sand burning our open wounds
the meat of love weeping
for not conceiving, once again
an empty egg
crying blood

hanging, alone
at the top of the mountain
crucified by crippling emotions
naked, empty, bare
blood gushing out of our sacred caves

every month
we die a little more each time
part of our spirit leaves us with each bloody sacrifice
we then come down from the cross
and sit, holding our dead baby
caressing its soft, bloodied cheeks
we know
time is inside us
eternity inside us
a woman knows all
life eternally inside her

strength and passion
sadness and nurturing
love and pain of knowledge
we nurture life inside our sacred bodies
and each month
we mourn our dead babies and our husbands who never came back from war

we continue on
month after month
forever through time

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