poem13 Nov 2022 06:02 pm
Avra Margariti
Cauldron alchemy of sizzling wormwood heart-sparks glowing like sixth magnitude stars which is to say not bright at all salt sulfur mercury the yin yang and beyond blood drawn from meaty bottom lip the missing ingredient Grandma Spider instructs I fill a bowl with boiled goat milk and drop three of her raisin-black grandchildren into the viscous liquid. The spiders gurgle as Grandma watches from her webbed throne. Now, she says. With scalded fingertips I fish them out. They walk across my workbench, arachnid-bent legs weeping white across the swirling woodgrain spinnerets spitting brittle silk soaked in milk. The spiders crumble and die and I cry, I cry but Grandma Spider shouts, The spell, girl. Focus on the spell. Soon enough, the drenched threads weave a shape on the table, the lost last ingredient. Grandma Spider nods, perched high in all her ancient glory. I gather the gossamer flower embroidery onto my palm swallowing it down whole.
