She sheared a thin slice off, a yellowish film of moonskin like sunburn peel on her fingers
stolen gently. Delicately torn, lifted, floated off. (The skin– from the moonface).
She lowered her fingers with it balanced atop the tips, gently. She brought it to the lake– sunk it slow so the thing floated among the waterscums to find its place.
She didn’t hurt it. Didn’t shard moonbones or cause it to snuffle in pain. If she had, the astonished stars might have dropped dead to litter our driveways.
She said that when she finally laid down with one (a man) she didn’t feel a thing.
She said that she dragged Apollo out of Leto while he clung to the cervix, crying.
She said she littered a rapist with arrows, and cleaved another with greyhound teeth.
champion of chastity.
Please! Let me keep my maidenhood. Nine-day-old midwife that I am, I love–
Then you should be innocent, like your sisters. Hit the books or the hearth. No late nights at the drive in and know that yoga pants are for whores and if you kiss him in that room he’s not responsible for what he does so you’d better just come home before you kiss him
My maidenhood is not–
and how many girls will be there and how late will you be out and no v-necks or eyeshadow or smiling at male teachers and none of that irritating liquid can leak out from under your eyelids unless there’s something to really cry about like a sad movie or a broken heart
better apologize before you ask a question and puncture all of your sentences and keep your voice high and wavering. Curfew is now and bring your brother and that’s not allowed, not for you, not for my daughter. The way it is. The harsh truth. Where we live. Not really up to me. Safety.
She preferred the company of women, they called it mentorship or
Fierce protectiveness. A love of female… innocence. And also animals.
That’s why she loved the forest; it was not an escape artist act, we swear.
And that moonskin you see floating there, well
That’s just the true moon’s reflection.
Artwork by Alexandra Levasseur