Six Prayers to Nantosuelta

These are six of the seven prayers that I wrote for Nantosuelta for the nights that I was praying to her, and in the spirit of devotional offerings, I am making them available here.

“Six Prayers for Nantosuelta” (this specific set of poems) by Kaye Boesme is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. Please let me know if you would like to use these in a way that is not permitted by the license — I’m open to a conversation about that.

Prayer I

Nantosuelta, whose nectar
nurses bees at your breast,
O queen of hives, O giver of fruit
you who plumps the land ripe,
measurer of industry and achievement,
I pray to you, sweet-giver,
O Goddess who holds the fecund land,
who knows every prudent way
we may keep the harvest fresh,
granddaughter of wide-hipped Earth,
sower of gratitude, prudent and wise,
may these words of praise fly swift.
You who hears all, you whose honey sweetens
even the harshest moments of our lives,
may we learn your rhythms and easefully
move from sowing to growth to harvest and back.

Prayer II

When I saw you,
O Nantosuelta — fear gripped me.
When I saw you,
O Nantosuelta — you were skeletal.
When I saw you,
O Nantosuelta — you were bare

as midwinter trees lying dormant
between seasons of life,
like our soul as she ranges after death
before ripening again to birth.

When I saw you,
O Nantosuelta — your hollow death —
when I saw you,
O Nantosuelta — the rattling crown —
when I saw you,
O Nantosuelta — the remnants of yesteryear

a shadow of what was consumed,
shaking like leaves in the wind,
rattling like bones sucked clean of marrow,
before winter turns to spring.

When I saw you,
O Nantosuelta — those piercing eyes!
When I saw you,
O Nantosuelta — the unsettling face!
When I saw you,
O Nantosuelta — death divine, complete!

O Mother of Winter, I knew then:
you teach us the power of persistence,
of climbing and seeking with every last reserve,
that life never leaves us, even now.

O Mother of Winter, I knew then:
all mortal effort is impermanent,
all that comes to be passes away, ground
away beneath your bone-white feet.

Prayer III

What renewal you show me, Goddess,
swelling forth bud-crowned, flower-crowned,
a diadem of bees humming their hymn for you,
your garments fragrant as fresh-cut apples.

Lady of the storeroom, wise rationer,
may our every appetite be prudent,
holding never-too-much our steady guide
as we learn to tread lightly on what we have.

Prayer IV

Nantosuelta, fire-tender, bee-suckler,
nectaring forth from your abiding place,
you are the fountain of sweetness,
honeycomb-giving matron of abundance.
O Goddess of the birds’ houses, guardian
of hens and pigeons, ducks and doves,
of wealth that lasts long for the wise,
may I have the prudence to live justly,
taking no more than I need, every appetite
ruled by a good heart and sober mind.

Prayer V

Nantosuelta above, garlanded with bees.
Nantosuelta below, crowned with dead leaves.
Abundance and wealth, life and death,
consonance and dissonance — beauty becoming beauty.
I praise you, lady of the hives, giver of good things,
all-nourisher, safe harbor in bleak weather.
Nantosuelta below, bone-light, dormant life.
Nantosuelta above, sun-kissed, guiding growth.

Prayer VI

Nantosuelta, your faces change with the seasons.
You bring shape and form to all things, filling us with grace,
flowing into the world, bearing true abundance,
nourishing the soul — you are our constant guardian, O Mother,
as we pluck the fruits of life, of death, of life again.
Your gaze is ever-watchful, your mysteries
the desiccated grass, the fragile spring leaves, the way that rain
bruises fragrant flowers, scattering them upon hard ground.
O Goddess, the apple tree gives forth its fruits to nourish;
its excesses rot upon the ground at its roots — it renews itself.
O Goddess, we hymn the universe with our every action;
our excesses are what fertilizes our futures, for good or ill.
O Goddess, you are wondrous, all-seeing.
O Goddess, the gifts you share are boundless.