at midsummer feast
he measures her bones
the incline of her neck
grey eyes like his own
and she in communion
surrenders her grip
he captures the pearls
that tumble and slip
purloined, coveted
he holds them fast
dons robe and talisman
nascent jewels past
at village harvest
her mother had worn
with oracle sisters
to bless the bright corn
Juno to Jezebel
Astarte to tart
prophecies broken
the land torn apart
his words command
over silver water
his sun, his moon
his property, his daughter.
Sylvia Posadas, June 2015