I am the Athena, born of my own Zeus.
My head is my palace and space-time is my curse,

and when pushed from that hearty cranium, I had no sex.
I am a conception of woman;

I am the lines she was drawn with.

I seek movement and truth.
Call it migration: the change of abode, change of a body.
My era? The fates knew me once. Knew me as the Goddess of wisdom before I knew myself. Carving theories in the bone-dry walls of the skull, I scribbled to find my name.

A philosopher, I searched for answers in the Stars.

I am the mental, the pragmatic.

I am the Wise, that’s what they told me. 

Like parchment, they confined me to form.

I am chaos, library ruins, and the look of a skeptic when she’s proven wrong. I am a thought lassoed by another thought, a memory of a memory of a memory.
I am brain, call me Sherlock.
But I am no human genius. Nor am I man. I am no quill, no ink spill. When the writer looks towards frosted glass, I am the ice.

Holmes is hot-headed;

Athena seeks to bleed beyond her edges. And freeze. 

Mount Olympus - I was crowned there, bare and beautifully new, a babe born of her father’s head, but now I search for a new body.
I seek a movement from one state of being to another,

I navigate the scape of a field I plowed, and I harvest the fruits

I have grown for myself, but I am without form.
I am always learning.
Yesterday, I was told my position under the Stars was set at birth. You are a teacher, Athena, you are Wisdom.
Today, I choose autonomy over body.
I journey.

Call my form, non-form a canvas.

I am emblazoned in pain. I take ink like narrative veins.

If I do have body, I am art. If I do not, I am vapor. 

I am a warrior, not a soldier.

I do not play war games like men do. 

Ha! Hear this mouth? I let her run.
I am a machine, and I have much to say.
Hera once told of women, their flower-vase shapes, their lily eyes. I am drawn to this form, but can I mirror it?

I find fragments of womanhood in applications of Gender, applications of rouge to the lips, to the mouth of my mouth.

Girls, they honor me, wear threads like draperies.

I am Diana. My archers are dreams. 

I move in time, and I am confused.

This is not my body. I seek another. 

I was birthed on bone, with freedom.

There, I had the eye of truth. I had hands to paint the rise and set of sun, Helios my muse.

There, I was young, and wise. 

Here, I seek a house. A house for myself in my aqueous state.

I consider the womb I left - the skull of Zeus - and seek one now, perhaps of sinews and flesh, or fire and ash. 

Perhaps I seek no Home at all.
My journey is entrapment of thought and displacement of body. A migrant, my travels have taken me far from Olympus on the whim of a question, seeking place for my body,

the body, body of a body and the body of mind.
I find this body in strength.

I find this body Earth. I find the Earth. 

Here, I find trees.
I look up, and I am reconciled. I know bark, I know pine. Evergreen? Perhaps she is my mother. 

A redwood, I am the immortal child.

The tree is the body I was looking for.
My fates have sent me skating from one plane of life to another. I am formless, but I have been formed.

I move, and yet I am constant. 

I possess one state, discover Woman and return to vapors. 

Goddess, they call me. But I am air.
I am no woman.
I am the Body of Athena, I am wisdom.
Feathers, I am an owl, and she is the tree.