In the woods,
a circle is made,
candles bright as light
and dark as the night
represent my name.
.
Soft whispers lift,
toward my unseen face ---
trees whisper as if alive
and have joined the date
where people celebrate my murder and fate.
.
Chanting is heard
The witches drop their goods:
Wine, bread, charms —
their spells float,
knotting around my bones.
.
I take and eat
their sweet and lovely offerings;
strangers unbeknownst to me
treat me better than those men
whose fire claimed me.
.
They come together,
in circle and song,
beautiful voices that sting my funny bone.
.
They wish for my rest
and that I am heaven's best,
that this year brings me warmth and love
that my mother returns home.
They apologize for my death,
with gentle breaths,
crimson faces that show bones,
of the people who celebrate my tragedy
flesh and bone remember the agony.
.
I narrow my eyes,
forever it has been
since I saw my mother
and hugged her twice.
.
Even my father,
never has he been around,
he is the one people often forget,
because patriarchy runs along rivers,
that people cannot see;
stories that people cannot upkeep.
.
Every year,
many mourn and celebrate me;
it should be my mother and me ---
two ribs from unholy meat.
.
I send these humans my blessings,
I don't miss being a human
It's been so long;
Cold and undone,
is the human condition
when people are wronged.
.
I whistle and let them know I ate
and thank their trays:
cheers and claps echo
the alpine choughs settle
---- death is life
and life is death
Together, I accept
that I am both
an incarnation of jewels and coal.
.
Next year,
They will offer me grace
and I will save them from hate,
because these humans celebrate
my charm and womanhood
what it meant to be burned goods.
I rose from the dead
because I am the Phoenix
whose fire and ashes were well spent.
.
The rituals' echoes
were offerings mellowed
to resurrect an innocent girl
who was wanted in hell ---
jewels and coal
are my heaven retold.