Bewitching Caroline, admirer of Holy Dionysus,
But not a mere Maenad - herself a goddess in the flesh,
Minoan sister to the winged and protective Isis,
She’s an epiphany among the sacred rocks and trees, so dewy-fresh.
Her copper-tinted, dark and wavy lengths of locks
Are crowned with a wreath bestowed on her by coven sisters
And like Bulgakov’s Margarita on a vernal equinox,
Abandoning her clothes, she flies, short-circuiting transistors.
She flies through inky-black and starry, moonlit skies
And whispers very ancient, closely guarded incantations,
Her skin aglow and fragrant with a secret potion’s spice,
She’s headed to a place of mysteries and pagan celebrations.
Her Tarot cards are spread and pentagrams are dampened
By drops of fresh and ruby-colored sacrificial blood,
With servant entities and spirits of ancestors honored, not abandoned,
Her power can heal or punish, stir a whirlwind or a flood,
But that’s by night and in her sacramental, secret lair,
But in the daylight - she’s a scholar, razor-sharp, creative and quick-witted,
Her learned colleagues hardly guess the source of her bewitching flair,
Only some chosen few to take a glimpse into her mysteries are graciously permitted.
This lovely poem was written by my friend, the Aegean archaeologist and all round multi-talented artist, Michele Mitrovitch. See more of her work here.
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