We are the chosen
in robes of white
my sisters & I
we are chosen
Born of the sacred fire
that burns without cease
pure & smokeless
below the hill of Aventine
where ravens flock on ill wings
we hear them cawing & cawing
always, without cease
We heard the day we were led
before the Great Pontiff
He felt our cheeks, smooth
& our bud breasts, so smooth
& our soft burning lips,
kissed by the gods
& told us, ‘Daughters, you are blessed,
you are mine,’
& chucked us under our blessed chins
Then we were taken below the hill
Mons Aventinus
to watch the fire burning for the first time
Our fire
& our eyes were wide
when the virgins of old
took us by the hands
& stripped us of our worldly garments
They scrubbed us clean, so clean
the soles of our feet were chapped
& my mons veneris was plucked
of the few hairs that grew there
Under the hill
the sun was but a cold blind eye
How we shivered
in our new white skins
virgin twins
watching the ravens circle
above the holy fire
Oh, frightened
& our hair was shorn
it was long then
& fell to the dirt
dark curls, fed to the fire
Another sacrifice
we were anointed, dressed in white
veiled beautiful
& given lamps to never burn out
for we are wise virgins
we are sisters
never to be broken
though days go on
Each day to the sacred spring
whose clear trickle is our tears
Each day, solemnly, we burn
brighter than the fire
We wreathe our grey statue
in roses white
Our mother, whose eyes are cold, blind
She is the fire
& we link our hands & sing
to drown out the ravens cawing
the clarity of wasted spring
the water trickling in our minds
& the echo, we will never die
for we are pledged now
thirty years of servitude
grey & thinking
always thinking of the fire
for we are virgins eternal
for we are chosen
for we were born
for sacred life.
[While primarily devoted to Apollo, Laura Elizabeth Woollett is fascinated by the Dionysian. Earlier this year, she completed her first novel, which was inspired by the myth of Apollo and Daphne. She is currently based in Melbourne, Australia. ]
