One Thousand Two Hundred Sixty Days

Revelation 12:6–14 

Sometimes in a long white 
gown, often in tattered brown  
wool, always with two wings  
of a great eagle on Her back, Asherah 
circles the edges 
of the square, of the wilderness where 
we have left Her,  
watching.  

Sometimes in the towering sphere  
of the temple, we continue to build, 
the void at its center, the scar 
of Her uprooting  
flickers Her image—white 
bark and meat, branch and trunk, 
the softness of Her belly fruit—plump  
pears, pomegranates—  
pulling on the softness 
of my womb.