Practical Magic
Six women meet
One night late October
To eat potato curry and rice,
To drink an assortment
Of wine,
Apple juice,
Earl grey.
There is only one man in the room:
The baby feeding from the hostess
Sat in the middle
Like an empress.
The fire isn’t on but it’s warm
Due to the recent luxury
Of central heating.
Plants sprout from their macrame hangings
Beat-metal pots and pictures
Adorn the walls
There is tasteful cream all around
And lamps that grow gold and warm.
These women sit
Collecting now
Nestled in one place
By happy circumstance,
And choice.
They are teachers, campaigners,
writers, jewellers,
herbalists, artists,
potion-makers, gardeners.
There are mothers, lovers, ragers,
organisers, soothers,
seers, do-gooders,
Tear-aparters, builder-uppers,
Party-throwers and goers,
Howl-at-the-mooners,
Rational thinkers,
dreamers.
Whose eyes of theirs had not witnessed
The beauty that Autumn,
The damp leaves glowing
Their final sunset hours,
Gnarled branches
Announcing
The bearing of teeth and bone
The great return inwards,
To ceremony
Circle
And home.
Birthday, 28
A rock of musk
Blue calcite
Flower essence for clear direction
St. John’s Wort tincture
A jar of magic mushrooms
Evening ease tea
Journals
Crystal glasses
Cups
Black Cat, White Cat posters in frames
Bottles of Prosecco
Chocolate and raspberry cake
Rose-scented candle
Hanging cactus
Pens
Treasure-chest
Cocktail making kit
Mohair socks
More chocolate
An abstract painting
Mother Earth print
Mary Oliver’s poetry
Scorpio perfume
Wood-handled knife
To Have and To Hold
Every night we dream
Thick and eventful
It’s a time of great change
You say
It’s our subconscious minds
Sorting through
This morning we kissed
Like two spoons in a cup
Stirring our way
To forgiveness
Our living room
Glows peach and pink
Your mother blesses us
From the window
The prayer beads
Of another mother
Curled around the base
Of the large glass vase
My own mother gave me:
An outrageous bouquet
On my birthday
It’s your birthday soon
Next week in fact:
Today I gather gifts to wrap
And thoughts to set down
Once again
On paper
To hold
_____________________________
Odd
I was born
Against the odds
And though we know two odds
Make an even
And though we know an even
Can be loved
It can also be split in two
And be at odds
Even at home
_____________________________
Destiny Lies Deep
Always
The inability
To shake the longing
For something else
Wondering
If you were in fact destined
For some other life entirely
Not realising
That destiny lies deep
In the bones
It is not some ethereal path
Painted in cloud
: it is right here
In the bricks and forest
In the complication
Of nerves
And wires in the cupboard
In the segments
And parcels
Of each new day
And you are wrapped up
So wrapped up already
In its shroud
_____________________________
We Walk Through Snow
The snow around us glittered
A flat sugar finish
At points we knew
Beneath was swamp
Above us a raven circled
And the higher we got
The more the light changed
The more blank the sky
Became
I cannot tell it in sequence
Only that
I felt fear
As the edges became white
Encased with snow
There was no view to speak of
We walked in grey cloud
My fingers felt
As if they’d fall off
So cold
And worried
I felt transported to a child
Being dragged up mountains
By my father
Feeling lazy
Indignant
Hard-done-by
And with those feelings
The guilt and the shame
That I was not the daughter
He would have wanted
I did not display
Spritely enthusiasm
A can-do attitude
Physical fitness and flair
A slim athletic body
A sunny disposition
- no
I was the antithesis
Of this
Or so I thought
And right there in the snow
I experienced all of this
Again
I could feel that childlike despair
But also
The wonder
Before reaching the peak
We stopped at the plateau
I cried, exhausted,
As you peed into white snow
We shared a peanut-butter cup
The salty sweet plastic crunch
Feeling ever so nutritious
In the cold
With a weary, worked body
In tow
We sipped rakija
From a pesto jar
‘Delicious’ I say
My tears fast drying
With the journey
Of that hot, faintly bitter,
Spirit of plum
Made by my uncle
In Čortanovci
There on the mountain
Which serves us both
As guardian
Which I hadn’t climbed
In years
You poured two thimble-fulls
Out on the ground
For those that have passed
And it struck me as a mingling
Of ancestors
- Not for the first time -
There have been many signs
Of our rivers merging
I enjoyed watching you
Stride ahead
Your confident wide shoulders
And proud chest
Feeling safe
In your good judgement
Appreciating
Your sense of adventure
More concrete than mine
More striving
And physical
There hung a strange light
Over the sea
As we descended
From the dusty sky
Glowed an earthy sunset
A chemical fire:
Ominous mist
Like ash
Behind us
Iced peaks
Bobbing
Amongst pink
Cherubic clouds
Down on the road
We were met
By the liquid gold
Of late afternoon,
Moss-covered rocks,
And the presence
Of centuries
And tales
_____________________________
Imbolc
The first gateway
The first glimmer of Spring
Of lengthening days
Of snowdrop hope
Pushing through
Cold coagulated earth
Green shoots waiting
All that was planted
Striving
From the undergrowth
To place on my altar
In a crystal vase
I collect water
A magical sight
Going up so close
To the waterfall
As it rains incessantly
Everything so alive
So good and affirming
To be in a place
Where I feel so at home
So real and so true
Surroundings where you think
This is me, this is real beauty
Old tree roots and moss
And sharp rock faces
The ornate fountain
And mysterious lake
I pick two snowdrops
Outside our front door
To place in the vase
Having thrown the previous bunch
Into the lake
Making a wish
For our love’s longevity
I place four candles
Around the vase
And a cup
With warm milk and honey
I light incense
And play Irish songs
About St. Brigid and witches
I sit with eyes closed
Contemplating
The essence
And the meaning
Of this day
Feeling connected
To my sisters
All around the world
Lighting fires
Circling wells
Crossing head and heart
Singing prayers
Setting intentions
Writing poems
And planting seeds
A stirring yes
Rises
In the belly
Having rested
Having fattened itself
In time for birth
_____________________________
Our Long Soak
What to grasp in these times?
We are living
Bathed in question
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