fair thee well...

Witches going to their Sabbath (1878), by Luis Ricardo Falero

scythe, sin and seduction

it was panning

a river town’s weekly

street vendor pushcart

peddled congregation

when I first met her

between my open wide

sample eye for honey,

my ribbon bound stalk herbs

zinnias and hardy mums

I must have looked the part

a readied surrendered iron

scavenging slow fires

for the little pieces of me

I had thrown away carelessly

littering along my journey

with forgotten promise

after forgotten promise

pocket warmed vignettes

and fantasies

of what life was

meant to be

once, when I was young enough

to be buoyed by hope

never having to see

beneath possibility

and wished for outcome

I did so think

to gather my lives in jars

to stave off my mortality

(these I’ve lost track of)

she would

say my name

in the song

of the rain

if I came

along with her

while she rode

behind the Sun

I was in no position

to decline

I had been

mining my soul

for some time now

wanting an ore

that would burn me alive

with something more

than the sum

of what I used to be

EJR ©