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Image by Ruth Troughton


the madrigal, volume v

Call me Aphrodite

by emma connolly

Call me Aphrodite- foamy goddess
head laden with garlands of flamin’ hot
cheetos and sweeping muslin skirts that

flap in grecian gusts-
I call to my maidens to guard my knees-
I call to my husband

who says he’ll call me back as he’s a busy god
with many important meetings, but
when he does come he comes with
vast planets dangling from swollen arms
and asks me- which one?
I took saturn because I like rings but
the rings fell off and it ended up rolling around
my chambers asking for water and so
I kicked it off the balcony.
Call me Aphrodite as I’m truly a woman
of God, always keeping an eye on things
(things) can be anything, most things are
ants but I prefer to spend my time on
girls and boys, I put them in boxes and label
them and my maidens sell them
at the market.

Call me Aphrodite-
an absolute sort, gorgeous as hell

and lighter than heaven. I command the
flesh of men and they lick themselves all over
helen said beauty is so unfair so I stripped her
and wrung out her glittering hair over the city.
Call me Aphrodite as I watch from the awning
distant battle dust-rise from men’s sandals
as they drag and screech
dawn till dusk till finally- the dust settles- then
I call my maidens over and order a pizza.

Call me Aphrodite- but not at the dinner table-
then you should call me mother, my name

runs like lifeblood and I’ve even had
dogs named after me
Call me Aphrodite
my soul drips like pomegranate juice from
the wrists of lovers, and when the mourning
doves fledge full with milk and the ocean
white laps over the edge, you will remember
my name.

Emma Connolly is a poet, (but her family and friends don't know that) she hopes to tell them some day.

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