parthenos

This poem reclaims the original concept of "virgin," which is not what I was made to think when I was young.

Whichever way scholars trace the term, its tracks settle on self-sovereignty. A virgin is a woman (or man) who stands in her own power. A protector of small things. An archetype of fertility and growth, wisdom and war, birthing and death. A "one-in-herself," a coming together of worlds. There's a layered irony in the shift this word has taken. It has been stripped and simplified, reduced to a state of pre-penetration, objectified as inexperience, misconstrued as chaste. In a word, perverted.

Language is fascinating.

But there are remnants of its original meaning that slip through the seams. A virgin forest is self-regenerating--and, yes, in a way, untouched and unpenetrated--but at equilibrium, one-in-itself, an autonomous, biodiverse whole. In ecological terms, a climax community. To be virgin and virile need not be mutually exclusive terms.

However sullied their fabric becomes, our words can rarely escape their own inner knowing.

"Parthenos" is an epithet depicting the archetypal virgin, and stood in for many Greek goddesses, including Athena. This poem, like my own true virginity, is in a constant state of birthing.

parthenos

this thing

of native grasslands

virgin forests

blood-stream

song

is a thing

of being Virgin

already

standing strong

and a thing

not of hymen

but of archetypal

dawn

to reclaim

the Virgo-maiden

with bow and arrow

drawn

so this thing

of native grasslands

virgin forests

blood-aligned

is a thing

of being Woman

not penetrative

but divine

Photo by Dave Hoefler on Unsplash.