The night irons the day. Licks off smoke
rusty fog, yesterday’s memories.
I hide my toe in a blackened dream
gazing wishfully up – the sky
a black granite countertop cold and heavy
peek-a-boos with a butter tongue
dancing for the howling packs.
My eyes align with Polaris, celestial pin
peripheral marking. A cosmic chordophone
striking the head with a force of a child’s wish
transcending songs from a rainbow bridge.
Ears drown in aural runes, sigils in DNA
rattle the bones. The heart lulls under a veil
of Northern snow and soon –
I pass the Baltic Sea, bedrocks of Helsinki
enticed by sweet promises of apples and rhubarb
clinging on to the apron of my Mother
impatiently waiting to taste home.
– Published in Three Drops from a Cauldron, June 2nd 2019