May Queen

They crowned her the queen of May,
the little girl.
Chose her for her purity. 
Pure and white and smiling.
Unblooded.
Golden curls
held by red ribbons,
and entwined with flowers
topped with sweet smelling may.
Spring is here,
you see.
New shoots springing into life,
so we’re ready to be
reborn and ready to play
the game.
Ready for the circle.
Ready to go
round and round again.
Like the dancers she watches
weaving their ribbons round
the maypole.
The maypole phallus they’ve planted 
in the ground and
bedecked with ribbons.
Red and white.
Red and white ribbons of menstrual blood 
and semen.
Round and round
She watches from her throne.
Round and round.
Then come the Morris Men.
Bells jangling their presence.
Sticks clashing with their power.
Flags waving
to announce 
their virility.
They crowned her the queen of May,
the little girl.
A crown of sweet blossom
and hidden thorns.




First Published by Community Arts Ink, Reclaiming Our Voices, 2015



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