Psychology

Psychology

1.

My animus
is dangerous.

He scrapes shards across my face,
razor sharp
and with such a casual stroke
you would think
it was a lover’s caress.

I have lived with him
since the beginning.

Eras passed before I understood
that he inhabits the blind spot
barely out of sight, behind my eyes.

Why is he so cruel?
Will he ever awaken me with a kiss?

I have slumbered too long
under a cover of pale darkness,
while existence turned the neutral gray of dawn.

I have languished,
bound in a cocoon
where once upon a time
Sleeping Beauty
grew old.

Carved upon my features
is a map of love’s decline
and life’s catastrophes.


Perhaps he sees me now and runs away,
afraid of the Medusa’s stare
peering out at him
from the face of an old woman.

2.

What became of Persephone,
the first fair maiden,
who welcomed each day
with a joy that could not be broken
by the intrusion
of a few unpleasant memories?

She woke up old
and now
too many lost things
come to roost
upon the gnarled branches
of the world tree
where she rests her weary head
and dreams among the birdsongs.

Demeter’s daughter
was kidnapped
and raped
by the god of the underworld.

He plied her with his penis
and his pomegranates.

Our earth was sorely wounded
by the destruction of her maidenhead,
and we have suffered ever since.

3.

My animus
is dangerous.

He learned the trade of torment
from Dark Mother’s underside -
that place of half-born, half-rotting things.
(Monstrous lumps, unrecognizable,
their dying cries
are breath soft
and indistinct.)
He robs me of my light,
taking it for his own
intent on devouring what is left of maiden joy in me,
old as I am - just fifty-one
but dwindling.

How can I survive another tide of his accusations?
What can be said to a ghost
who haunts time,
yet never shows himself?

Except through longings,
and in fragrant recollections
Where moments barter with the truth
for sweeter meanings
and deeper colors.

In my box of secrets
where songs grow wings
and leave forever once uttered,
I keep a list of what is true
and what is flamboyant fabrication.
I check events
against this record,
and leave small carefully drawn x’s
along with the date,
in the hope I will not forget.

But you even find me there,
cruel animus.
You tear at the ground,
Like an enormous, hungry animal
All the more terrifying
because I cannot see
your face.

I thought you
would be my friend.

It’s time I had you
replaced.