The Huntress
-
There’s been a lot of talk lately
about arrows and targets and making your mark
with the kind of badassery born from a bow & arrow
but I’m no Robin Hood, just a modern day Artemis
in a pair of stiletto boots, with a quiver full of truth
a wildfire ripping through wildflowers
the storm surge in a hurricane
whiplash in a crown
mismanaged mischief always afoot
unconcerned with the sound a bullseye makes or my arrow’s precision
but ever-insatiable for the thrill of the hunt
and what may emerge
from the edge of the woods
-M
Right now, sitting at my desk in the early morning hours before the work day, I am reading over notes on my phone from January 2021. About a year ago, I was only just beginning my journey. Reading through what I had written, I have so much gratitude for that girl - the girl who kept going. The girl who could taste possibility at the back of her throat like pomegranate seeds, knowing she has always been, in a sense, a modern day Persephone waiting for her eternal spring. A girl who just wanted the best this world had to offer because she felt its potential in her bones, to give that to herself first so she could return that light back to others. She wrote about the kind of days that tasted of bitterness, sobbing in the parked car in the garage, of her daughter asking her, "Mommy, why are you crying?" She wrote about how she did not feel she was enough - she was not enough for her daughter, she was not enough for her marriage, she was not enough for herself.
