Feathers, petals, fur, bone

I. Blodeuwedd

Beneath the sun-captured
musk of meadowsweet
dusting her skin, holding
the heat of June, you catch
the musty scent of owl
up-close — the quivering
flesh between feathers,
a last flash for the shrew
on its first and final flight.

II. Arianrhod

A queen made of stars
holds a castle in the sea.
Give her wings, and she
unlocks your midnight
heart, the place you hide
the blood and bone taboo
you’d wished to will away
in a wreck of daylight,
the fur-folded guilt you
cough up, leave behind.

III. Ceridwen

She was young once
and the space from then to now
filled up like a cauldron with violet,
mugwort, comfrey, moss; filled
up with learning how to use them
and how to become infinite:
her face now lined and smooth, her hair
white and dark, her shape itself unfixed —
an otter, a hawk, a greyhound, a hen:
whatever she wants to be, and when.

[Kate Garrett is the founding editor of Three Drops from a Cauldron / Three Drops Press and Picaroon Poetry. Her own work appears here and there, in online and print journals, including Rust + Moth, Prole, and Up the Staircase Quarterly, among others. Her next pamphlet, You’ve never seen a doomsday like it, is forthcoming from Indigo Dreams Publishing in 2017. She lives in Sheffield, UK with her husband, four children, and a sleepy cat.]