Womyn is Phoenix. Is God.
And finally
the entire thing is gone,
swallowed as the earth licks itself aflame
sun,
an unapologetic master heads home
moon,
mistress of the night beckons sweetly in the belly of darkness.
In the beginning man slept
as the beauty of womyn was fashioned, and
I can imagine the Creator speechless while
molding flesh into curves,
lips into resistance,
hair a lasso of truth,
eyes the very embodiment of Styx,
thighs the gates to forever, now and then.
I can imagine the angels gathered,
nodding,
reverent,
wings shivering in awe at the image of God—
perfect He created them, and
when the jaws of this foundation bite shut
only She can create this life, fashion
like Him in Her image as the man sleeps—
spent like the sun.
Gervanna Stephens is a girl from a small Caribbean island with congenital amputation. She is a poet, educator, and a proud Slytherin. Gervanna has had poems published in several print and online magazines, including Whirlwind Magazine, 12 Point Collective, Spillwords and Anti-Heroin Chic. She hates public speaking, has two sisters who are way better writers than her and thinks unicorns laugh at us when we say they aren’t real.
