Venus of Petrkovice

We are quiet under a moon that has nearly disappeared to black,

although it is never black. Some nights the old souls number thousands

upon thousands. I include the ones who die for our consumption.

I include the feathered, the long pike with silver spotted sides.

I have their flesh within my muscle, sinews, tails, eyes. 

It takes many mornings to make a figure of myself. I like the stone,

heavy, a dark earthiness about it, a shine that will come

from use, stored inside pouches as we move from place to place,

searching for grain and rabbit. My waist firm, breasts parted

by a hard line, my belly the belly of a lame wolf.

Belinda Diepenheim

Belinda grew up in Wellington, but has since moved to a small village in the Manawatu. She has published in a variety of New Zealand and international magazines and ezines including Landfall, Poetry NZ, Takahe and Snorkel. Belinda published Waybread & Flax with Steele and Roberts in 2015.