Barrels and Broomsticks

There is a world that I know, beyond the everyday grind of busy and bustle
It is the real life that I live in my head, sometimes hidden and sometimes
Celebrated, that is when I dare to let the curtain rise and I enter unannounced
The me that lets the wind blow and filter through my cotton, white nightgown
When the moon rises high and full and I gather my witches’ spirits together
We drift in the clouds and lie in the sweet, warm grass of herb, stone, and sages
The lot of us…drifting in and out of the wind, stopping to see and listen.

By day I sweep the porch and savor the wood smell, the pine, and broomstick
The smell of straw pricks my nose with its raw texture of grainy wheat, heat
That sends the earthy messages of scents in the breeze and fairies in the rain
I watch my dusty bare toes and relish the brownness of my skin, I am akin
To the Mother of the earth and to the Father of the sky, both shining within me
Alive in the glimmer of my eyes, breathing in the breath of my soul, loving me…
I dance when the chores are done, and think of rabbits in the moonlight.

Soup stews on the stove, old relic of polished, blackened iron, sturdy and solid
I am strong, my bones are mine and the bones of my children grow in vigorous
Worship of the night and of the gods and of healing and life, laughter and love
Sunlight drifts across my kitchen, spirits dance in the beams above the floor
Bread rises to bronzed perfection and I taste the melting butter on crust
He comes from the loft, to share this supper, I watch his blond curls, his throat
Later, his brown hands are strong on my skin, darkness creeps across the bed.

The rain begins softly, tapping lightly the tin of the roof at the back verandah
Its song caught in a torrent that flails itself, sweet water brimming the barrels
Giant drops splatter and bounce on my swept, old-wood boards of the porch
I lean against his length in catlike content, his body smells warm, musky like mine
We watch this rain dance together, lost in the enchantment of the night
He gathers me close in his manly-scented embrace, his lips against my hair
I feel again the passion that we bring to our love, we are lost in life itself.

cailin raine