She walks with confidence,

Her heels clicking with each step,

She blows a bubble as pink as her lips,

Her petticoat swishing side to side,

She holds onto Aphrodite’s hand,

There she goes,

Small-Town-Sweetheart, Sappho.

 

Down the alley she struts,

In her hand a baseball bat splattered with red,

A leather jacket on her back,

A “Girls Rule” pin over her heart,

She puts an arm around Athena’s waist,

There she goes,

Ms. Hot Shit, Sappho.

 

At the kitchen table she sits,

Waiting for the ding of her oven,

A pastry made with care rises inside,

A cake that's as sweet as it’s bakers,

She kisses it’s tasty batter off of Hestia’s cheek,

There she goes,

The Loving Housewife, Sappho.

 

She pats the soil in front of her,

Her apron covered with earth,

The tender seedling feels her love,

Her smile as beautiful as the sun,

She plants a wild and lively kiss on Demeter’s lips,

There she goes,

Tender of Violets, Sappho.

 

She comes in many forms,

Many identities, many names, places, and shapes,

Many sizes, many faces, styles, and hearts,

She waits for her princess, but no,

She belongs in a Goddess’s arms,

There she goes,

A Modern Day Sappho.