Mary Conjures a Spell – a poem by D. Walsh Gilbert

Mary Conjures a Spell



Orion with his belt of lights.
Slither between dandelion and crab grass.
Salamander at night.
How to walk the ways unknown.
A world gone wrong.
The welcome note promises a thriving.
You take what you can get.
Tinder from the banks of Purgatory Brook.
Iridescent forsythia.
Waiting for the intoxication of the lilac.
Spice of kielbasa spooned during war.
After the locusts and before the star glow.
The odd forces of again and again.
Mortar and pestle.
Still.
Tiny stitches at the hemline.
Become invisible.
Belonging becomes benign.
Chisel imperfections from the marble.
A prayer or a commandment.
Burn an offering to the old ways.
When to mourn and when to eat tomorrow.
How candle-bubbled soup becomes a pie.
Woman’s work.
A calling.


D. Walsh Gilbert is the author of Ransom (Grayson Books) and forthcoming, Once the Earth had Two Moons (Cerasus Poetry). Her work has recently appeared in The Lumiere Review, Black Fox Literary Magazine,and the anthology, Waking Up to the Earth, among others. She serves with the non-profit, Riverwood Poetry Series, and as co-editor of Connecticut River Review.  

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