Hera’s Vows to Zeus, On Their Wedding Day
On the day when
my breath becomes an ailing furnace
and my skeleton is the ramshackle remnant
of this massacre we call living,
I hope you will still see me as I am today,
a girl on a mountaintop
in a white dress
jumping from an unguarded precipice
into you.
On the day when
my breasts are no longer the archetype for the planets
and the humans find some other myth-made god to worship,
I hope you will still bow at the altar of my legs
and come into this sanctuary,
a humble disciple.
Am I wrong to believe that this marriage
is the inspiration for gravity?
Am I wrong to believe that you built Olympus
not as a palace,
but as a nursery
for the children we will braid into being
from the burning dust of nebulas and
the shivering cataclysm of our lovemaking?
Am I wrong to want to be your bride and not your sister?
When Father swallowed the pantheon,
I knelt on the floor of his gut and I prayed for a savior.
You came, a thunderstorm of a refuge.
Do not call this matrimony,
call it a hero’s reward.
I will spend the rest of eternity
thanking you
again and again and again
for this freedom.
I promise you,
I will not love you the way the Titans did.
There will be
no rebellion, no fear,
when you come into my bed chamber at night.
Call me Atlas:
Whatever you give to me,
I will take.
Call me Prometheus:
unbounded and open.
I will shimmer there before you,
a pomegranate split in half.
Feast.
My groom:
On this day,
I do not rely on my divinity
to be the siren song
that breaks you frenzied and helpless
on my shore.
I know theos is not enough to keep you;
even us gods pray for love.
On this day,
I do not stand here a queen.
I do not stand here a goddess.
I come here a woman,
willing to submit myself
to you as your wife.
So I ask,
Are you man enough to be my husband?