Psalm for Asherah, and: The Commandment, and: Prayer for the Woman Scorned

you are the seventh type of holy fire, smokesettling over an altar, sizzle of flamesdoused with water. you are the presenceanywhere there is absence, invisible,a hidden wholeness, all the separate selvesthat ever were separate. you dwell in nightcries of children, in spaces between, in the darkmoon before its waxing, in zeroes, imaginarynumbers, in madness. our lady of embers,of bees and wildfire, swarming shadows—here is the book in which our nameshave been written. erase the inkwith your bright tongue.devour us.¹

THE COMMANDMENT

You shall not plant for yourself an Asherah, or any tree, beside the altar of Yahweh.

—Deut 16:21

our husbands told uswhat the lord our god commanded—that we break our asherahs, make dustof the goddess who oversaw our birthsspeak no more of her, they said

the lord god was jealous of the ash treesthat grew beside his altars, the prayerswe whispered to our daughters, the pillarsthat glowed in the fires of our hearthsyou must put her away

they hewed down the great ashthat grew in the temple, set fireto her wide trunk—the smokecould be seen from as far as the sea

make dust of your pillars, they said

we gathered them in our skirtstook them up to the high placesand broke them, wondering howthe lord’s wife had become so unclean

forget her, our husbands said, forget her

but the month of av is hot—when we slept on the rooftops beside themwe could see her in the constellationsthe chaldeans say augur all things

she is still there, we said, still there

in the women’s tent outside the campwhere no man could hear us, we sanghymns to her in secret—our voices roselike smoke drifting up to the sea

PRAYER FOR THE WOMAN SCORNED

she dwells in a secret place—the void between what is and what is expected.

she makes her refuge alone with the lilit,among creeping things, ache and shadow.

when she opens her mouth, bats fly shrieking out,filling the cave with a noisesome pestilence.

men call her terror by night, banshee,patron of rage and spite, heartlessness.

above, her sisters walk among the living,laughing—joyous—clutching children.

they crave her, call to her in sleep,dreaming, mourning her absence.

if she ventures up to meet her sisters,a thousand thou-shalt-nots descend upon her—

seraphim, thrones and virtues, dominations,brutal guardians of the sunlit world.

they scald her, cloak her with burning light,make her cover her eyes and cower,

send her back to the subterranes,to crawling things, cave dwellers, shadow.

drudes of ash and fire, familiars, cambionsspirits of earth and night, spite and loudness—

bless the cavemouth, send the bright things screaming.let her sisters sing her out.