Voodoo blue

I am safe
when that midnight wind
comes rustling,
making the flowers shimmy
and shed their dresses
in passionate dances
they don't understand.
Wisteria, azalea, crepe myrtle, camellia
sacrificed to decorate the hungry ground.
The spanish moss whips toward me
the hair of the bony fingered, smiling hag,
restrained from chasing me down.
I can withstand
the late night whispers
from those who have gone before,
laughing, or mocking, or scolding,
or calling me to a love that had to end.
Fog rises from the boneyard,
white marble mansions with doors
supposed to stay shut,
as my steps take me home,
weary, sweat wet and watchful.
But I am safe.
My flowers grow on the graves of
the heads of animals killed
to feed me.
My house is kissed by heaven's own blue
on its shutters and roof,
bathed in the fierce joy of the ocean,
yellow walls a tribute to the sun.
Lightning and flood are on my side.
Protected, secure,
I am armed for the battle
with mystery.

Copyright 2005

This poem was part of my first award winning entry in the Heartsong Contest for AOL-J bloggers.

poetry