PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

We stepped into a shop thinking it was going to be full of antiques. The settee in the window draped in lace, drew us in. Expecting an assault of dust mites and history, we found ourselves in a store of the occult.  Adjusting our eyes and expectations, we looked around and saw soft  chairs and tables piled high with deities and talismans.  Books on every topic of the dark underworld lined the walls, mixed with gemstones , incense and oils. We filled our lungs with the healing smoke of the patchouli and sandalwood.  He drifted off to the books and incense and I to the crystals and gemstones. 

After walking around a bit, touching with care the amulets and essential oils, I stopped to marvel at the beauty of the Hathor Pendant with amethyst in a case.  The goddess of women at their best, she symbolizes art, love, pleasure, singing, and dancing. 

He comes up behind me and asks, “Do you feel your inner witch coming out?”

I let out the breath I’d been holding in a soft laugh, and say, “I’m fucking vibrating.”

He bought incense and a holder that would cleanse and purify and bring positivity and beauty to our universe.  Setting it up in the center of the house, we made love in the afternoon to the waft of its smoke.

He Said I Shared

He said I shared the color of his mother’s eyes,

And would I like to see?

A photo perhaps 

From under his bed,

A walk to the shelf 

For an album of dust?

Perhaps. 

No, the eye,

that was made for,

And worn by, the her

That bore him.

The Italian side, 

of brown eyes,

Gone to hazel with age.

The one lost in an accident,

Now found stored in her son’s closet

Decades and eons later,

Following her demise. 

I declined