Meg Weston

With a passion for the geological processes that shape the earth and the stories that shape our lives, Weston expresses herself in poetry, non-fiction, and photography (www.volcanoes.com). She completed an MFA in Creative Writing in creative non-fiction from Lesley University in 2008 and has studied the craft of poetry with Richard Blanco, Kevin Pilkington, and Ellen Bass.

In January 2020 Meg retired after 8 years as President of Maine Media College, where she established The Writers Harbor® program to complement media arts curricula in photography, filmmaking, and book arts. She is the co-founder of The Poets Corner www.thepoetscorner.org. Meg led businesses in media and consumer photography including: president of The Portland Press Herald, president of Konica Corporation’s U.S. consumer photofinishing companies, and CEO of PrintLife, an Israeli digital imaging start-up. For ten years she served as a trustee of the University of Maine System Board of Trustees and as Chair from 2006-2008.

Meg recently released a limited-edition book of poems entitled Letters from the White Queen. Her poems have been published in Goose River Anthology, The Mountain Troubadour, and Impspired magazine.

The Goddess Speaks

At the edge of the crater, call out my name,
Pele, Pele, goddess of fire & lighting, 
goddess of wind and volcanoes

Honor me as Pelehonuamea,
the fire of earth, the wind on the oceans, 
I appear as a young girl, or an old woman at will
I wield my power in the color red.

Red like lehua blossoms encircling my neck
flowers left as an offering at the edge of the crater 
Red is the color that grows on my cheeks
feel my hand on your back, look up to the sky, 
see my blush in the spiraling clouds.

Red like the dark veins of a drinking man’s nose 
Dirty hands, whiskey breath on the back of your neck
Read like a diary whose lock has been broken
Red is the blood that flows between your legs
Red as the shame of unwashed stains

Red bursts of anger flush through my face,
I stamp my feet, I make the earth tremble
In a flaming display, I’ll destroy these men’s houses
futile dreams disappear in curses of red,
feel the danger that dazzles in blue methane flames. 

See my beauty in pyrocumulus clouds, I’ll heal 
the earth with a rain of green olivine crystals—
destruction, creation, all is the same—
Wounds now healed over, red rocks in the mirror
reborn as hibiscus, anthurium, torch ginger

Honor the earth, call out my name,
honor my body, draped in dark, flowing red.

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