It is that time of the month

It is that time of the month
where my womb wrings her guts out
where we together
weep blood

over the apparent illusory disparity
between body and head
as though head is not part of body
it is that time of the month
where we can no longer pretend
that the mind is queen

the body rules
her inner tide
rises, catches, throws
that arrogant mind off guard

Overthrows the queen and hums
as together we sink
pulled in by Earths gravitational surge

an undertow

Somewhere in the midst of my anguish
there is a silent joy
that this battle can not be won

this is the time of the month
of such fragile wonder
of such breakable awe

so disconcerting this is

this is the time of the month
of no control

this is the time to be tender
this is the time
to return to her center

this is the time of the month
for reluctant surrender

this is the time to let go