You Are Right To Cast Spells

I was bequeathed silver and pearls in her life which I wore lazily

until their disappearance.

She was right to be angry.

Each curve and glint held the shadow of her own mother.

East rooted volcano, her lips once pillows, she still dribbles patriarchal spittle

of tomorrow’s redemption.

Notes from the fear factory are still taken.


Scratch the surface and hold it.

How tender is that heart in the mountain.

How mysterious that hidden chasm.

I can rewrite sweetness for us both.
I can still wish to bring her joy.

Yes, there is a nest within where the telescope points.

You are right to cast spells.

It is what you came for.