Call Upon Her

Alluvial –

she was forgotten, but never washed away, for the flood was her creche. 

Not unicorn, nor dragon, nor griffin,

nor man.

Just some boss-ass bitch treading flood waters, waiting millennia after millennia.

She’s grinning now gill to gill because that drought’s coming sooner than planned.

She still has legs though her toes be webbed, and when she and the time comes

she will walk endless miles across dusty drained-ocean plains

without looking back at the bloody trail she leaves behind.

Each drop of her heat springs forth an oasis of new creatures sprouting

singing beastly hymns:

All hail the glory of the Merbitch!