Storm Large, Queen of Heaven

Crazy enough doesn’t begin to describe it
She used to perform naked, breasts painted
like an American flag or like magnolia blossoms
Singing her guts out about kicking heroin
on her own in a darkened room with spider tentacles
clawing her eyes out & there is only one way
to make sure that you really live & that is to die a little
each day. A tower of flames rises from her head
full of bees and promise and E minor chords
She still performs naked but with her clothes on
She is Brigid, the patron saint of poets, the guardian of the forge
& those who work with metal, the protector
of the sources of sacred water. It is said she invented
Irish keening which can be heard at night in times
of grief and dark lighting & it takes effort to have vitality
without being consumed & you can’t help but suffer losses
so be sure to put baked goods on the doorstep for travelers
& remember that agriculture and poetry are the same
& the Queen of Heaven is nothing short of ordinary
and nothing short of radiant on this second day of February
this day of Imbolc, the first of the four Celtic fire festivals
that span the year and the world and the great vault of heaven

2 responses to “Storm Large, Queen of Heaven

  1. Another fine poem. I think Queenie sang with the Dead for awhile.

    Liked by 1 person

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