La Bruja

Two sisters live in this house I know.

It's not a gingerbread house,

It's not a witches' house,

But it has a curvy front walk

And a cat behind the screen door.

One sister

Is quirky and friendly.

She wears

Leopard print ear muffs in the winter time.

The other sister

Is seldom seen

And won't pass the time of day,

Won't even

Look your way.

What's up with that?

I'd love to know what's up with that.

When she moves, she's so at home in her own body,

She makes it seem like all the rest of creation

Is just a guest in her universe,

And when she turns

The leaves burn

Just because she stands near them.

What's up with that?

I'd love to know what's up with that.

The friendly sister

Always has a good word,

And a smile like honey;

But the other sister

Makes me feel like a blackbird

Shot from the sky

And falling, falling...

What's up with that?

I'd love to know what's up with that.

I think the gypsies

Kicked the dark sister out

Because

Everywhere she stays

It rains the ace of spades

And she was too intense

Even for outsiders like them.

And so I

Ponder her again--

The mother of the moon

In the form of a cat.

What's up with that?

I'd love to know what's up with that.

__________

Photo: Cat Power

Ghosts

Ghosts love roses--

I know this

Because every time I wear silver jewelry,

I catch their fragrance

And they tell me

Senora,

Mira,

The constellations gather

At your throat and fingertips.

Ghosts are fine dancers--

I know this

Because late at night after even dreams have gone,

The rain touches the curtains at my window

Lightly,

As a lover should;

Finally, when I am as empty as a wine glass,

They give me music

And forgetfulness made of glass and wood.

So, give me my silver jewelry

And toss me down a fragrant rose--

Though I will not stir, I will be dancing

With the ghosts who whisper,

Senora,

Are you ready, now, to go?

____________

Advice

Unless you are one of my sisters

So close that

When one is cold in the midnight

You can see the other's breath;

Unless you are one whose presence I carry like juju

And keep close against my heart,

Do not say

"What you should have done is this"

Or

"I used to be like you are now, and did the things that you are doing;

But I have conquered all that and live like the ocean, inside my conch shell of serenity."

If you say

"I eat starlight

And crap sunshine,"

I will not dispute you.

I will not debate.

But beware of magick.

Beware of long memories.

Beware of silence and the one who waits.

________

Denise Endormi

The succubus is having a latte at Danny's when some dark haired chick walks in with a panther and they grab a booth.

The chick wears killer boots.

"Bitch," mutters the succubus, before finishing off the latte.

Poor succubus.

It's only eight, no sleepers to stalk, but she gets up and makes for the door anyway.

"Nice boots," she says to the chick, with a wink. The panther stops shredding the booth with its claws and fixes its yellow eyes on the succubus.

Its lip curls up, revealing gleaming canines and dangerous intent.

The cheap silverware lifts off the table and bends from the charge in the air.

The succubus leans close, her red lips nearly touching the ebony ear of the cat.

"Honey...don't you ever sleep?"

They hiss at each other for a moment, and then the succubus is off like a prom dress, out the door and into the street.

If you're thinking of becoming a succubus,

This one could tell you

It's not all daisies and puppy dogs.

Sometimes,

Succubi sit home on a Friday night just like anybody else.

But not this time.

After smoking for a few hours with a gargoyle on the roof of the Frank. J. Wabeek building,

She crosses the street and slips in a window.

She creeps down the hall.

"Nice Muchas," she thinks, admiring the prints of vintage advertising art on the walls.

Then she is slipping through a doorway and into someone's dreams.

In this dream, there are chocolate trees and caramel streets.

In this dream, the sky leans down and kisses any woman walking by.

In this dream, Brazilian music plays and there is the constant feeling of sultry anticipation.

The succubus knows

She is there to steal a soul.

She also knows

She can't.

Slowly, the way hot fudge melts ice cream,

She settles in next to the sleeper, wrapping herself around her like a sarong.

"Mmm...Chloe," she murmurs helplessly.

"Uh huh," comes the soft reply, and then the arms, the butterscotch lips that everybody needs, even demons.

In the morning, the sleeper turns out to be a waitress named Denise.

She goes to work, lets herself in, and starts the coffee.

She smiles, thinking about the succubus,

Hoping that when she gets back, her apartment will not be empty;

And,

In the middle of all these early morning daydreams,

She sets down a saucer of cream

For the panther

Asleep like a baby

In booth #5.

__________

A Perfect Day In Duckburg

Sally, who calls herself "Wynd", is propped on an elbow in bed, running her fingernail across her lover's bare skin.

Jane, who goes by the name "Rayne", opens one eye and smirks.

"Let's call in queer," suggests Sally.

Jane's smirk turns to a laugh, turns to a kiss, turns to... well, just never mind.

Outside, in the sunny driveway,

The U-Haul sits where it's been for the past two weeks.

Perhaps birds will end up nesting in it.

Who can say?

Meanwhile,

God is in Her heaven

And it's a perfect day

In Duckburg.

__________

Lies

I was the first girl baseball star.

Babe Ruth once came to me in the holy wooden clubhouse where I dressed alone;

He arrived sober, quiet, hat in hand,

To ask my advice.

I told him:

Live temperately.

Recognize the hand of the divine in everything that you do.

Realize that the pitcher is a major leaguer, just as you are.

Be patient, wait for your pitch, but when it comes,

Swing hard and wail the living snot out of it.

I once met Mister Eddie Rickenbacker,

The celebrated flying ace.

I asked him what it was like.

He told me:

"The sky is filled with devils and blackbirds.

I find the enemy, then send them bullets like children's prayers;

When smoke begins to pour out of their machines like hubris,

They go down singing Lutheran hymns

And German beer drinking songs--

They fall

As softly as spring rain.

I once loved a dancer

Who worked at the One Eyed Cat in Baltimore, Maryland.

She told me she had once danced

For Mister Edgar Allan Poe

On the last night of his life.

People said it was drugs,

Drink,

Bad living,

But I think he was driven mad by love for someone he could never touch.

He died scratching poetry

Into the cobblestones

With his fingernails.

I was the first girl baseball star.

I once struck out Babe Ruth.

That was when I learned

That failure can be more beautiful, sometimes, than success--

And so I went home to the gypsy camp I came from.

I told them how I'd gripped the ball

And done everything the way I'd planned to;

These women who had known me all of my life,

Just laughed toothlessly, silently,

And sent me to collect the spirit of Edgar Allan Poe.

I took him up tenderly, like an angel, or a new mother,

Stroking his filthy hair;

I told him how every time my bat kissed the ball,

It would fly far and fast into the sky, disappearing like joy over the tin Coca-Cola signs

And into the hands of some grinning urchin in a newsboy cap--

Then I kissed him

And his spirit flew away like an oriole,

Set free by my love

And gone.

________

The Victory Of The Sycamores

The mulberry leaves turn yellow-green,

So pretty and transient

Like duchesses.

The sycamores just cover everything in a utilitarian brown.

See here,

They say.

See here.

Oh I miss you.

Every thought of you peels my heart like an apple,

The pain so sharp that it almost makes me beautiful again,

My skin as white

As winter.

The maples are shockingly heartless,

Draping themselves in such a shameless, compelling, and unforgettable red

Just before they grow bored

And turn to naked bones,

Lovers transformed,

Offering nothing.

Oh I am the Queen Of All Fools,

And yet even I know the supreme idiocy of trying to put the leaves back,

To retrieve June

In immaculate

Perfection--

With the first snow in the air,

The train is at the station.

The duchesses, with all their trunks and hat boxes have boarded.

The bell clangs,

Summer is gone,

And nothing you love is ever coming back.

It is the victory of the sycamores--

See here,

You on the platform in the dusk,

See here.

________