the ladies' bathroom is the temple of Aphrodite
I make my pilgrimage through the crowd
I dance my way through the beer garden and enter her sacred space
past midnight, the sermons begin
the sink is the altar at the temple of Aphrodite
the priestesses are gathered around one tiny mirror
their giggles and cackles are ambrosia to my ears, the nectar has long before started flowing
it has to, else no service tonight
"oh my god," the high priestess says, invoking the prayer
"you're too good for him," says another of the women
"girl, I love that dress," says the third.
one of them offers her mascara. communion.
the stalls are the confession booths in the temple of Aphrodite
as the godess herself holds a girl's hair as she confesses her sin
"do not worry, child, it is not a sin to live in hedonism," she says, her voice like honey
"stall’s free," the girl stumbles out
it is a mess, the temple of Aphrodite
but not a repulsion. tear tracks are a mark of love,
not for the man who caused the tears but for the girls who wipe them away
you’ll never see them again, but tonight they voice the will of a godess
I ask the high priestess where she got her shoes
it is part of the ritual of the temple, and I have done my part now
"ooh, girl, on sale!" the priestess is pleased.
the godess herself is appeased. I go in peace.
the ladies' bathroom is the temple of Aphrodite
