a poem

Before October Comes
For Diotima
2014

Witches are stirring in their
dankly decorated caves.

Their time is here now.

Jaunty feather is tucked
into the old hatband.
Best robes are shaken out
and mended.

The cider is in its bottles and
herb bundles
droop from the
ceiling beams.

We keep our calendars close
as the days fill.
Dusting, sweeping—yes, that is also
what brooms
are
for.

There is a talk to give,
a classroom to visit.
The UUs need a sermon—
light or deep this year?

The quest continues
for the bag of
Mellowcremes that holds
brown black cats
and honeypots
and Moon faces
and stubby Witches.

Is it Fall Mix or Autumn Mix and will the witches
even be there this year
or have they been finally
banished
from their friends?

The churches raise money with vast oceans of
saleable
carveable
inedible
pumpkins
which doesn’t seem fair
really.

Rituals are created and
venues found.
Classes and
media calls and
patient explanations
of history
of rights
of images so old
their language
is forgotten.

And still the graves of
my people here
want my attention,
waiting patiently for
their decoration
of green beans
and chicken
and coconut cake,
longing for their whiskey perfume.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “a poem

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s