you are the middle of nowhere
centered at the very heart of me.
yatta abba, the dogwood grove,
the name of you that
fits in my mouth like an incantation.
i remember you as dead magic.
fistfuls of rotted leaves & cracked – open acorns,
wilting azaleas & dirt made soft by the rain —
ingredients from my grandmother’s backyard.
mixed together with a too – big stick
& water i poured from the garden hose.
in my bubbling cauldron,
the secret to revitalization.
your simple euphoria.
i wanted to give you an offering.
i wanted to be the wild woman, witch woman,
that roamed your shadowed streets,
my voice a moonbeam
cutting through the night,
singing to you
in the hope
that you would
come alive
once again.