they came with sage and songs,
sweetgrass smoke swelling from shell to plume
to spaces he touched,
polluted places,
places where we still have to live
and die again each night
in the bedroom befouled
(that’s why they told me to smudge it again)
sobbing sisters
and smoke_and songs to the birds
to carry him away from
places where we still have to live
a compulsion to sweep
– they said it was right –
right out the back door
where they put a new lock
in case he tried to come back
they left me a braid of sweetgrass
in case he tried to come back
searching out his selkie ancestresses
to come collect their boy
a glass jar filled with nine nails
– one for each year he stole from me –
prime years, nearly nine – the skin of a snake
and the hottest kitchen powders
graveyard dirt…
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reubenwoolley 