ash tree nymphs 

i learned my body through 
the blood rain of its making. 
a story of a great downfall. several actually.
on my mother's back there were
little hotels. we stayed in each to make our way
to the sky. my father was a severing.
a downpour in the dark. we spread though.
first just a limb & then hundreds.
i have more siblings than i can count.
all of us bloom with cream. we feed
the goats who come to us & ask
for a god. we do not tell them that
divinity is built through reverence
& awe. that we have seen the undoing
of a titan & we know they always
come & go. we tend the goats.
let them believe what they must. 
we nourish all travelers. we tell stories 
of bodies that make themselves
from the fracture. sometimes, on
the right nights, we take a train to 
our mother's neck. she is watching television.
a show about a war. we whisper
in her ear that she should join us. that it is
never too late to become a sibling.
she does not. she leaves the front door
unlocked. on the train ride home we notice
another zeus. there is always another zeus. 
he is punching holes in the walls. he is
forgetting the goats who tended him
when he was fragile as a petal of cream. 
back home, we dig our legs into
the warming earth. let the stars talk
about our father all they want. 
we will make gods of one another
then take the face off before it is too late.
soft flesh. twisted knees. the goats are calling
ubers to visit the shrines we no longer do.