Venus's Answer to Cupid's Complaint
        after "Cupid Complaining to Venus," by Lucas Cranach the Elder

I grow thin and white on apples,
skinned for you, child, with my teeth.

It is never enough. You tear
a honeycomb from the tree,

cry as the insects impale you.
You'd think a god would be braver.

Love's tonic, fruit juice cut with blood.
I tore feathers from an ostrich,

picked off the flesh, and decorated myself:
ivory puffs and a collar of gold.

Around us the bees swarm like harpies, sharp,
infant, as your own poisoned arrows.

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Copyright © 2020 Jade Hurter All rights reserved
from Iron Horse Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission