If I Had Not Read the Book, I’d Still Have Believed
Hangingthere in white, a bride
ofdried veil blossoms, alit
likean electrical
storm,a brutal spark or a stir spoon
ofcream in gentle water but dry,
florescent,flushing, pale, solvent.
Solventas a daughter vouchsafe, with
nameslike chamomile, hibiscus, hawthorn
devil’sclaw, lavender, night shade, honey
root,sarsaparilla, horseradish, myrrh.
Myfingers are disappearing, now,
dissipatingto powder. It was mortar and pestle,
acold and fixed time in history.
Pagans.The Black Plague. Salem.
Onesip of me could poison or
heal,tangoing down your backbone spine,
coldor dry or steaming, steeped
intoa shade or overshadow of fresh tea,
brewedlike a promise. Tea, drink in, stir
fast.This is not easy, lover, come to me
whilewhole. Come to me when I am
whatis wanted, while effervescent, while
Iam alive, while the earth mother spins
onher axis, while there is a pact for the
thingswe do. While there is still time.
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