Gwydion,
Did nobody tell you
That owl is not a punishment?
Like all men who shout names as you leave them
The curses that rain down on women who go their own way
By men who forget
The ancient honour of the words
Created by our mothers
As they talked and sung and gathered
Those words twisted
And used against us.
Virgins belong to themselves
Birthing sacred life onto earth
Spinsters weave the fabric of creation
Like the grandmother spider
As they hold riches in their webs.
Whores are holy wombs
From which we are all born and to which you ache to return
In a woman's loving embrace
And owls are the wisdom of the night
The communion
With the wild feminine dark
That you crave and fear.
I like to think she laughs
Like all the women who escape
From the clutches of men.
She traded apology flowers
For
Wings.
- Jenny Wren
Artwork "Little Blodeuwedd" by Tammy Wampler
