by Doreen Hopwood

I watch the birds, black headed gulls,
rooks and solitary crows,
heads cocked, a momentary lull
in their raucous cacophony.

They listen for the rumbling
of worms turning underground,
leatherjackets tumbling
through the whispering sounds
of complaining roots

protesting at the unseemly speed
and heavy tread of the luminous
orange centipede
as she flees the hideous
devouring beaks.

Deaf to this turmoil,
afraid to delve beneath the surface
of the deep dark soil,
you cannot see the secret places
hidden in your heart.

Seated high in my vertiginous tree
like a succubus grafted onto bark,
I see you watching me,
lusting after my luscious, dark,
 venomous fruit.

And who am I?
Count the grains of sand upon the beach,
or the stars that wash the midnight sky,
I am the beginning and the end,
the prize you long to reach.

I am the Cailleach washing in the stream
cleansing your life blood from my thighs,
I am the Morrigan screaming over battle scenes,
wreaking havoc and rejoicing in the cries
of foolish, greedy men.

I am Pandora with my box of tricks,
observing the foolish lift the lid,
unleashing hidden desires, a heady mix
of forbidden delights amid
decadence, betrayal and regret.

I have a heart, you know,
a vast unfathomable place,
where only those who understand me go,
only those deserving see my face
and live to tell the tale.

I am Death in Her feathered cloak,
Kali at Destruction's door,
Hecate smiling as her hounds run amok,
run then, run until you can run no more,
I catch you all.