Amanda's Page

daughters of eve

if there is a word for shame it is apple
so place it on your tongue and taste
its smooth red skin and bite

deep if there is a word for apple it is bitter
so let the juice run down your chin across
your hand and

drip if there is a word for body it is seed
and its luscious taste turns toxic in our
throats its razor edges pierce our naked

insides if there is a word for beauty it is secret
grave shadows ghost girls and pushed-up

daisies if there is a word for woman it is shame… Continue

The feel of forgetting, the flavor of bliss


How do you like your masochism? Bite-size? Raw?
Or in large chunks so you have to shove it in,
your thin cheeks bulging, chewing madly, tasting only
the first phobic shock of tongue-touch?
How badly do you need this?

In bed your lover's hands brush your surface skin, a gentle echo
of your own rough touch--
fingers that know the anatomy of the throat, the vulnerable places, coaxing

the sudden squeeze of the belly,
the release,
the meat that rapes yo… Continue

Samhain Song

It is an old story, the oldest story:
the lesson of death, the etch of change, the vital
return, so different and yet
so very much the same. This is the story
of life written in the language of fear.
This is the story of living.

The dry scritch of leaves travelling
from sidewalk to grave
is an ancient song, a modern
interpretation on a prehistoric theme. This bone-chill
is the same touch of winter that my great-
grandmothers felt year after year.
It recurs for me.

This is the sea… Continue

Survival Instinct (This Fish)

Turn over this fish.
The glistening speckled back and sides pink
as a newborn's tongue
cap a wet white underbelly.
Turn over your own instinct for survival
and you will find the same.
Look inside! One strong finger hooked
in the cheek and your insides will spill as easily as this fish. Your
meat will be exposed. Your struggle
upstream will end.
Turn over your own desire for flavor, your impulse that strains
toward sunlight, toward
sweetness, toward touch--you will… Continue

Owen worked his first spell today. It was blisteringly hot and still, and we were talking about where wind comes from and how it cools us off, and Owen turned around and shouted to the sky, "Wind! Come visit us and cool us off!" And a minute later, a breeze started! He was very proud of himself for working his first magick. 'Course, it was probably sheer coincidence that the wind came up when it did. Oh, well. We made the next step in a four-year-old witch's magickal journey.