What You're Made Of

The meteorite that Achilles made a prize at his lover’s funeral games.  Iron so scarce that only Hesphestus could forge it and gifted from Olympus direct from the heavens.

Spooky cobwebs and jack-o-lanterns and the monsters we’re supposed to fear and love instead. 

Obsidian black and birthed from the blood of the earth, made of war and molten progress. 

The heart-shaped leaves of the Bodhi tree that shade the Diamond Throne. 

The thick smears of paint in a Van Gogh painting, living and more real than life. 

Water and water and water. You flow and pour and wash and weep and ebb. 

The lost orichalcum of Atlantis that the gods feared so much that Poseidon wiped its presence from the map. 

The color pink, like babies toes, and girly things and girly bits, and the flesh of Pacific Salmon. 

The stacked cairns on Icelandic hills to guide our way in the deepest snows. 

Wicked thoughts and kind words and a thousand little lies meant to heal the old, old scabs. 

The stems of dandelions, sticky and stringy, and built to carry a crown of yellow fire.