Prayer

Goddesses of Midnight and Fog--
do not hide me from the God of
Bardship, but let him see me
in my robes of blue and goldenrod,

anxious for words to fete the ever-
turning of the universe, a turning from
dishonesty and indifference, the
time is ripe, indeed, for those syllables

to drop from the boughs of the tree-branches
like fruit into my lap, bruised and
sweet, to feed upon before I journey into
the next world to seek advice from the ancients

protect me from your brothers,
that Trickster and the Vengeful one--
make sure my steps, and fill
my mouth with words for recitation

Above the Fold

"because I could not answer
you before, because I
could not answer you before
I am calling you now.  Are you there?
Are you there?"

"Painkillers?  No. Nothing stronger
than aspirin.  What's happened,
anyway; I was worried."

scanning headlines, in the silence,
behind the glass a sea of pink
wool, unparted, in spite of
the spouting of alternative facts
she persisted, in spite of
the clatter of night-time raids
punctuated by the glare of torches

"Well, will you have it seen to?
Don't take aspirin; it thins the
blood."

eyes scan the words as
his fall through the wires, those black upon the page,
ink on pale newsprint, another
county heard from, another
cunning stunt reported on,
another breach in the
fabric of humanity, the
threads tearing away as if
perforated by a thousand
thrusting knives, the numbers of the dead
totted up in neat columns

"Use heat, or cold, is it,
to relieve the pain?  Heat,
I think, is the thing to try."

fingers blackened by the
smear of the banner
headline, all those headless
bodies in topless bars piling up
while Hizzoner watches his
approval ratings
and she wonders whether it
would be different, now, if
Dewey had defeated Truman