THE WEAVE:

Vesta looks into Medusa’s

scrying bowl, and runs

into a memory…

To seek refuge
from the mother
in the father.



To find no safety.
To seek refuge
in a forest



of thin maples,
grown dense
upon the granite



cliff.  To write poems
there, waiting
for the mother



to seek her
out.  She never 
did.  To build forts



out of fallen branches,
tucked into the out-
cropping upon the ridge.



To build worlds
alone with the Mother,
until dusk. To return



to the house.






To split.