Every year on the eve of the full Capricorn moon is Saturnalia; a celebration of freedom, a display of unrestricted acceptance and unity. The popular and the pariah become one. The gods and goddesses descend from their lofty palaces in heaven to join in on the jubilation. Even Cronus himself takes off his crown for the night and feasts.

     Sofea finishes her daily rituals to her goddess, Aphrodite. Outside her window, the street signs are being decorated with homemade paper lanterns, and her neighbors are stringing fairy lights through the willows near the pond. The sun has not quite reached its zenith, and she realizes she finished her daily rituals much earlier than she has been the past several months. She is vaguely aware that she should be somewhere else—perhaps down the street—helping prepare the cakes for the festivities later on. She continues to gaze out the window, just for a few more minutes, and plans her Saturnalia, the night of spontaneity.

Darling, don’t worry;

they will tear you to pieces in the same, accursed city where everyone
else in your family will meet their doom. And of course,
this place is hungry for fool’s blood. No matter how many times
you raze this place with salt kissed invocations,
              some things will never change.

You will always be born from the mouths of beasts,
in a fragmented space like the thunderclouds on the horizon.
The body that you want to separately believe you hold dominion over,
will be dissolved like sugar water by mothers, maggots, and maidens.
             Wine stopped giving relief months ago. (more…)