the devil is a woman
because, of course she is.
the devil is a woman, with cutting eyes
soft hands and
hollow bones. she gouged out her own wings
because she knew
she didn't need them to fly.
she's not the lady in red, no
instead she's the woman in black
the perpetual mourner for all things she
could have been
if she had been Made male
she knows she'd have been her Daddy's
favourite.
despite this, she is still great
oh, hell hath a woman scorned, yes,
hell bent down on scuffed knees
kissed her bloodied feet
hell worshipped at her altar
gave screeching sacrifices
little blonde girls with bright blue eyes.
satan was never the hulking monster
the roar in the far off else-
no, no, satan was your next door neighbour
with lily-flowers and white knuckles
and the sense of wrongness that meant
you never asked her to babysit.
caricatures, she scoffs, smoking without
a menthol filter
she likes to feel the burn of death
a pale shadow on the wall
a ghost
a fairy story
she thinks they changed it all in the Book
to help themselves sleep at night
the snake, she remembers, had been as
trusting as adam and eve.
she had been so beautiful - she was so beautiful -
and there was no Wrong in eden.
at least, not yet.
trickster, the serpent had wailed when she
left him, legless and armless and hopeless,
i loved you.
lucifer, the morning star, the brightest
of the angels, wears no ruby lipstick.
she stays away from smoky bars
from motorcycles and leather.
she wears cotton, only cotton, because even if the
World is new and she is Old, she still
obeys the Rules
even if no one else does.
the devil doesn't lie. that's the damndest
thing about the whole sorry mess
the devil doesn't need to lie. she can just
gesture, show off the whole wide world
like a bouquet of rotten flowers
and display the futility of life.
this is the real truth, here and now:
the devil is a woman.
one night she hurtled down from the stars
and has nursed a grudge ever since
the devil is a woman, yes,
and far closer, far more terrible
than you think.