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Ghost Dancing with Dead Cousins

I was quite open to summoning

your deceased cat

even to calling in the Dead Files

to seek the secrets harbored by our house

I didn’t object to the

large sage plant

fumigating every room

seeping into silent shadows

herbal delight

spirit fright!

And wasn’t it I

the fearless, fanatic

searching out the perfect shaman

rustling through Reiki Masters

like they really did have a charm?

And all that salt

that cousin Hilda left us

salt streaming through the windows

I run with it flying through my fingers

like tiny grains of truth

Then Abracadabra!

There’s me in my orange-laced voodoo dress

And we are back at it

the business of our mortal disgrace

leaving the dead

treading through to the living

picking fights in flesh and blood

learning to seal and bind

the stupor of mortality

8 thoughts on “Ghost Dancing with Dead Cousins

  1. What a fun poem, Lana! I could smell the white sage, envision you in your orange-laced voodoo dress, running, with salt flying through your fingers like tiny grains of truth. I retired my voodoo dress a few years ago but still use sage and salt for various mystical endeavors. Good to see you here, it’s been a while. 🙂

  2. Hi Lana. I lovedddddd this! There was so much to interpret in this beautifully woven story. I loved the switch back to the voodoo dress and plot twist. And the photo is gorgeous! Is it yours? I didn’t know you had hidden talents, witchy woman! Good to see you back in blogland ❤

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