sometimesthewildgod:

Sometimes the wild god comes to your table.
Sometimes he comes to your door instead.
He is bleeding, wounded and menstrual.
She is laughing at your fears.
Sometimes he is the Antlered Doe
Sometimes she is the Broken Buck.

The Pleistocene and the Holocene had no room in them
For the small minds of the Anthropocene.
The beasts were too big then,
And our fragile notions of ourselves were too easily shattered
on the tusks of the mammoth,
on the tines of the Irish elk.

Sometimes the wild god calls you to the forest,
Beneath the too-many stars
And you howl for him like an animal.
The frozen sky echoes your voice to the earth
While the wild wolves quiver with an ancient fear.

Sometimes the wild god comes to your bedroom
And places her hand to your groin.
She breaks you apart like a pomegranate
Red juice, rich and sweet, runs forth.
You are alive and she–
She has never died

The Pleistocene and the Holocene had no room in them
For the small minds of the Anthropocene.
The beasts were too big then,
And our fragile notions of ourselves were too easily crushed
in the jaws of the dire wolf,
in the claws of the saber-toothed cat.

Sometimes the wild god comes to your table
Sometimes he comes to your door instead.
He is everything you think she is
And you–
and you–
you are more than you think you are.