By Eve Lorgen
I walk on all fours; I lick my wounds.
I am the homeless dog-bitch roaming the tombs.
Sauntering to and fro,
entering yogi’s dreams I go.
Reviled and exiled, mocked and feared.
My outer actions and beliefs appearing weird—
to those in the illusory world,
in which they are reared.
I break the curse with my canine jaws.
I dig for the truth with my furry paws.
My message is the song of these words,
a veiled secret unfolds to be heard,
“We are the curse breakers.”
From the depths of grief and utter despair
sprung forth a tear of compassion with an incandescent stare.
My lack of convention unravels the lies,
the abuse, the secrets, the tortured muffled cries.
Fear not my appearance of the homeless dog bitch–
the superstitious, evil, selfish witch.
From where I have come and where I am to go—
only the most courageous of survivors know.
Together we encircle to break the curse.