Lions and wolves with empty eyes,
the house is still
less fortress than you.
Sweet as honey and bitter
wine, a hero outdone by a sorceress.
Rock metamorphic
in nature, the rarest of your kind,
spilling mercury
and cyanide as you mix, the match
of your fury has been struck.
Cells knit together by magic and held
by wrath,
of your body,
you gave: your flesh
as a weapon. Deadly
and seductive, nightshade overtaken by flower’s
milk. Blood
made of sunlight and ocean,
your existence contradicts.
Odd at sea, ills be odd, don’t forget
that a woman birthed the universe.
Victims lined with fur, feathers, regret
for their transgressions and maladies afflicted
by potions, damned by hubris or
a hate for her. Content
in their restlessness, she weaves together
spells, spinning armored enchantments. Whisper
soft incantations and move swiftly, night
daughter, they cannot touch you now.