As poet Robin Morgan asks in The Network of the Imaginary Mother:

What have they dared,

Sucking at man’s wounds for wine, 

Celebrating his flesh as food?

…  Who have they dared to hang on that spine instead

and then deny, across millennia? …

She goes on and proclaims:

… this cup, this chalice, this primordial cauldron

of real menstrual blood

the color of clay warm with promise,

rhythmic, cyclical, fit for lining the uterus

and shed for many,

for the remission of living.

…

Here is your bread of life.

Here is the blood by which you live in me.

…

Woman’s body in particular incorporates the essential, organic never-ending renewal of Earth, and indeed of the Cosmos, since She is not separate from the Cosmic womb in which we are. 

It is woman’s body that bleeds, carries the future, may sustain the birthed – She has of Old represented cosmic creativity. It is a recent invention that a male deity could do it, that his blood shed by violence could give immortality, could give life that was more real than this enfleshed one we are in: it has been an early attempt at erasing Her, replacing Her. We see it yet still, becoming more obvious in some ways – but hopefully these times will clarify our vision.