Kate Gardner

United States

Kate | 16 | bi | romantically fascinated with Minoan bull leapers | I've only ever hated airports and fascists |

the house of your heathen gods

April 17, 2018

You look as though you were born to a baker
and his wife, who could have no children of their
own, but who wanted so desperately that the
faye in the woods took pity on them, and
left you at their doorstep, like your body was
hewn of the rarest flowers, which bloom
only to greet the face of the dawn, and retreat after
to the peace of the cool woods which border the Rhine, and the
coasts which lie north and west of it.

You look as though you were raised like a blessing, for
your parents knew that one day, you would
return to the wind and the incorporeal things
which make you, to the glisten of dew in the
face of the dawn, to the wing beats of
the dragonflies, who your ancestors only learned
to tame, when they respected them as an equal.

You look as though you were crafted, not made,
with the delicate hand of a dying toy maker, who
sought solace in your creation, from loneliness
wrought by the loss of a wife, and absent,
busy children; as though so much care was put
into your creation that unto you was gifted life,
that you might with it share the joy that the
art of your being solicited, and share you did
until at the urgings of your father-creator you
took up your belongings and went to the
busy places of this world, to learn of life and
salt and sugar, the very materials which sweetly make you.


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