Ursa Major

Who was the one to petrify your hunched-back frame, ambling in polar defeat and so effortlessly recognized?

He came cloaked and lusting for sworn purity when my vigilance lapsed. His spouse, a green-eyed goddess, an angry wife.


When will earthly life return you home, slipping soft, supple, albeit scarred skin from the grizzles of your veneer?

Tacked by seven unforgiving pins, I am an eternal example of what infidelity can do.


Why does your existence offer the stabbing pains of relentless tragedy in the name of motherhood?

Our precious baby, hidden in my shadow evermore, will never know the true face of his matriarch.


Where do you pose, tallest and proud, taunting your warden, whilst many admire your beamingly innocent disposition?

Nightly drifters gaze till winter calls me to the horizon. I hibernate in the trees. She ensures I will never drink.


How can I identify you, in your well-respected, “fear-inspiring” disguise mounted chiefly among the cosmos?

Prized by the masses, a disgrace to my own, I am the astronomical valley girl, gagging the moon with a spoon.


What do your people call you when he thunders through the eventide, his voice booming for your attention?

Pet names trivialize my misfortune, disregarding my infinite shame. My name is Callisto.

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