Firewalking

Firewalking




These were the words of the prophecy:

Your body will become a cathedral.
And the truth will tickle your velum.
Rejoice in the inventory of the happy days 
that await you.

I will fill your hands with stones, your mouth with sand
so you caress the coastline with your fingers
and remember me.

This life is just for you
I knitted it in motherly ways
Stop air-kissing boys
stop cat-calling love
And be my masterpiece.

I am waiting for the buccaneers
and his golden coins and his swollen cocks
Venus, why have you forsaken me?
You gave me a sweet name and a sore uterus.
May rotten dusky butterflies grow from it.

                                                                     

Text: © Victoria Bardot, 2013

 Image: source unknown