I don’t know what’s come over me! It just hit me, this most majestic epiphany. I’m going to throw a party that will put all other celebrations remembered by this browning garden of mine to utter shame. I am coating the trees in pink-gold glitter and draping blood-red sari ribbon from every branch and stem. I am cushioning the rough and muddy ground with silken pillows and bright blankets, and I am lighting the lamps with long, romantic matches gifted to me by a long-gone lover; I just may invite him tonight so he can see the perfection I’ve crafted on this lonely land of mine.
Yes, look what I’ve done, lover! Just now, I hand-painted the wicker furniture in all the colors you hate. I bid the Mother Tree heal over the bark where you carved your name near mine, and I am cooking only the foods you thought too bitter to taste. I am brewing the spicy summer wine that made you cringe, and I am pairing the stuff with chocolates shaped like soft-bodied Goddesses whose names you never cared to learn.
Oh, just wait until you see me, sucker! I am fastening the feathery lashes and painting my cheeks with yoni flowers. My hair is a wild rainbow of unkempt perfection, and I am layering every necklace I own over the neck you will never kiss again. I am pushing my humble breasts up high with my bare hands to spite you, and I am wetting my lips with the sweetest truths I know. My tiara is fixed, and my fairy wings are spread. Tonight will be a drunken rebirth, a momentous masquerade of nonsensical gothic debauchery. My love, I can’t wait for you to see the Queen I’ve become in your absence. I will lounge on my throne of moss and forsythia branches whilst sipping from my garnet goblet and waxing poetic by the light of the Beltane bonfire. I will be a temptress-muse to the hungry artists and blessed freaks who come to my fairy tale garden, and I will serve them well with long stares, sultry smirks, and raised, mischievous brows.
The tables are set with phallic taper candles already dripping white wax all over the blue velvet violets. So welcoming is my garden of delights, such a siren song to hedonism is the music I am humming, surely I will have to prune the guest list down to a select hundred friends lest my land be overrun by every thirsty beast in my town.
Don’t worry, lover; you won’t be left out. If I could forget you and your black demon eyes, I would. If I could have just one night of shameless passion, just one Witching Hour spent in passionate, long-tongued desire where your face did not mock me, I would gladly cut out all memory of our youthful, doomed love. As it is, every word you ever spoke is tattooed on my ribs, and I am incapable of escaping your name.
Oh, I am weary with wanting this Witch’s debutante ball to be glamorous perfection. It is moonrise now, and I’ve invited no one to my Beltane garden. I think I want to be alone tonight, after all. I’ll watch the candles burn down and drink all the wine by my lonesome. I’ll wake in the morning with puffy cheeks and fake eyelashes stuck to my wrists, and I’ll revel in those few first breaths when I’ve yet to remember you are gone. As the day grows hotter, I’ll plan this party all over again, but, just maybe, I won’t want to invite you, the wild lover who pissed on every hope I ever had. Just maybe, I’ll remember who I am without you, and I’ll wear these fairy wings just for me.
Danielle Dulsky is a long-time activist for wild woman spirituality and the divine feminine’s return. She is the author of Woman Most Wild (coming May 2017 from New World Library). A multi-media artist, yoga teacher and teacher trainer, and energy worker, Danielle is on a mission to inspire women to be fearless...