Hail Aradia, Queen of Heaven
who in other tongues
with other faces
is named Ishtar,
Isis, Arianrhod;

I

Praise unto you, Stella Regina:
I have nightly watched
your pale, shifting face turn
slowly towards your child,
only to turn away again
and again and again.
I have, in the deepest dark,
looked up and crawled into
your silver-studded womb,
safe and small in your belly,
soft as rabbits’ fur and
cold as space.

II

Gaia Mater,
She in whose name is the coming of floods,
clouds scutter shadows across
your eyeless dreaming face
as I cup two handsful of
crumbling ink-black earth.
My back aches with the work of you,
plowing the fertile crescent
of your thighs.  The Nile
is as long as my life.
I lay ripe as a fig
in the valley between deserts.
I, your jackal-hearted son,
hold the key to the door
even the priests have forgotten.
I, prodigal, yet know the secret sign,
the star, the crook and flail.

III

O Secret Queen,
in whose eyes are a thousand comings
and goings, whose heart is the sea,
your presence as troubling and intimate
as my own skin, as distant
as my own heartbeat, resolving
to a woman, a fire, a word,
a prayer, a promise.

[Talas Pái is a well-travelled Odinsman and the editor of Huginn (huginnjournal.com).  His writing and photography has appeared in a variety of publications, including Fulltrúi, Visions of Vanaheim and Odin’s Gift.  An American expatriate, he lives in the west of Ireland with his wife and two cats.  Talas loves lemons, bourbon and excessively obscure reference books.]