Viewing entries tagged
magic

coven

late lunch & one last mission, the threads are ready for our braiding

no more fending off the wild dogs; we’ve reached our weekend covenstead


we sit in circle, cense our space, chakras opening, intentions set,

postures more mindful, all eyes gentle, eclectic witches ready to begin

vibrations roll before smoky voices, we take our turns


rented glass walls cannot contain impending soft sob

wails, we picnic beneath the kind of trees & muted stars

the taiwanese city won’t afford


lush tropics against the white panes, we from our countries and our continents

linking this tongue in a foreign scape to call & cradle

universal strengths


white pillows, storied crystals, black clothes & bodies brushed

grass beneath us, mats, decks, speakers, games,

potions portioned, glasses filled, testaments & sage


we took our borrowed broom, teetering along unknown outline rice paddies

we had thought we’d reach the ocean, but we’re all

one another needs


smudged and elevating, we initiated narratives

witnessing generational culminations

in crises pulling us taut


communal kitchen morning, red wax leftovers,

time lent for external give back

now cleansing work

concoctions and methods shared

the return nostalgic, ending in black capped

pressure & a soak


among our coven so it was, and is, and will be

it has become written—we reconvene this thursday

on a full moon’s eve

seared

a too small

raw brown pioppini mushroom

extended from the girl’s left orbital socket;

out it peeked from an old, yet inexplicable,

healed through hole in her flesh.

 

the doctors she conferred with in a state of horrified panic

told her there were more, anchored to her ethmoid bone;

the pressure and the angle of the gloved hand palpating yankingly

is a feeling rooted way down in her gut.

 

she stayed frazzled, pointing out such a small cap

to each potential savior in that dreamscape,

doling out a narrative of panic, alerting them all to her allergy,

and the concomitantly swollen scallop edges of her tongue.

 

strangely enough, when she awoke, she did not concern herself

with her eye places—for her mouth, she knew immediately, was far too small;

the seashell gifted her in a mirror located right inside her mind’s eye

transferred seamlessly to the one in her apartment bathroom.

 

she is sure now—the horror is clear,

her dreams deal in

pastel color and pain,

seared.