How To Be

I’ve just placed black stones

on each window sill

& over the front & back

doors for protection.

Anxiety is an intruder,

anxiety takes the shape

of an intruder. I’m burning

sage to ward off

the negative spirits I’ve never

encountered but that just might

be here. I’m brewing

rose buds & lavender oil

on the stove, little cauldron,

to try & feel those old rose

colored glasses, hoping

they’ll be put back into place.

I’m cleaning the house

like my life depends

on its tidiness. Mary Oliver

asks, “Do you sense your place

here in the family of things?” &

I answer, “I’m trying.”

Witchcraft is the ancient balm

to help me feel like life is

still a bit enchanted, a bit

more than just what I see through

my tunneled vision, the illusion

that I somehow can influence

the forces & not just be

buffeted by these winds. I’m living

in Zelda Fitzgerald’s hometown

but I don’t feel glamorous.

I feel clumsy, cleaving.

I own no fur – one string

of black pearls. I have taken up

ballet, exercise to loosen

the grip of the intruder, maybe

that’s her influence. Maybe I

have many spirits watching

over me, not just the Scottish

grandmother my psychic friend tol

me of. Maybe there is more

to my one little life than I know –

maybe it’ll all add up to

something? Maybe I am

still learning how to be.


(Photograph by me, originally written August 2018)

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