I am Ishtar.
I shall rise up and consume you.
Pit my strength against yours,
Drape my naked body in your pelt,
Become you ,
Draw on your power.
Just as you have re-collected small islands of my past and painted them the wrong colours,
For you have inhabited each recess of my mind,
Left me no peace ,
Walked behind me in shadows
Mocking gently .
Where we entwine, you dismiss me yet.
Called me from your distress,
Of necessity .
A canvas through which I daily walk.
Not in the skin of a lion
In My own
Walked on wide beaches today.
Sun warming clay
Allowing what has unfolded
Its rightful place .
pain of memory,
Place and space of what might have been
And what has been
And your face
Fill my thoughts,
and you have so much to think about but I do not think that you have thought of me, today, at all, not even a passing thought, a glimmer , nothing.
And the phone again says ‘silent,’
For it is.
As I try once more to cast you adrift,
Steer a steady course thro troubled waters.
Somewhere In Suffolk, a woman walks
Graying hair on thinning temples
‘I am Ishtar
and I will rise…’
(Ishtar: East Semitic Akkadian, Assyrian and Babylonian goddess of fertility, love, war, and sex.)