my broom closet


Things in my broom closet

things that stay, things that sway

like the screams of my body

clasped by your ugliness, my face

like the red knitted scarf, knotted

braided with wild fire and moon drops

like amazing mistakes from my altar

soaked in a jar of blue illuminance

like pieces of luck written on stones

pebbles collected as I stumbled along

like a bottle of shame

gathered into stillness beneath dark corners

like strings of static energy

locked away from my hidden worship of the moon

like instruction charts meant for my impoverished heart

allowing me to sustain my tissue even in ultimate grief

like earthenware bowls of caution

with water gathered from an elevating luna

Luna brings into herself, a reverie of the world

like me, in my witchest moments

she is pulling and pushing

me a rhythmic priestess

she accessible yet distant

shaping into a full bursting self

through to the moment of release

waxing and waning to 29 cycles

I saturate with color and loss

languorous, endowed with light

dancing into cycles of renewal

bleeding of herself into the earth

just yielding to my bountiful body

is magic, just embodying transience

makes me a goddess



NaPoWriMo 2019

Witchcraft, magic, moon




Published by Kashiana

I am a management professional by job classification and a work practitioner by personal preference. One poetry collection - Shelling Peanuts and Stringing Words and a chapbook, Crushed Anthills. Always gathering poems, and letting them marinate and change shape and form.

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