Mother Midnight

Child of Chaos
oh Nyx, in sacred blackness
oh Empress, no one should fear
a time before, and after,
such a thing as vulgar light.

To darkness we all return
where she is our nursemaid, mother,
friend of our final fate
oh Nighttime, come as you will.

I see you bitter as myrrh
jealous as tar that traps us
take heart, dark lady, take hold
to guide our deepest dreaming.

For where would we be
without night? Lost and mad
from too much sun
so much blackness is such comfort

We should not fear the lack of light
rest heads on the pillow of the dark moon
secrets best learned when whispered
sacred sights best seen in the dark.

[Denise Dumars is a Heirophant in the Fellowship of Isis. She recently retired from teaching college English, and has poetry upcoming in Sheila-Na-Gig, fiction in several anthologies, including HWA’s Other Terrors. She helms Rev. Dee’s Apothecary: A New Orleans-Style Botanica, at She lives in Los Angeles’ beautiful South Bay area, but her heart is in New Orleans.]