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Smoke

by
 Smoke, it is all smoke
in the throat of eternity.
.
.
.
For centuries, the air was full of witches Whistling up chimneys on their spiky brooms cackling or singing more sweetly than Circe, as they flew over rooftops blessing & cursing their kind.
We banished & burned them making them smoke in the throat of god; we declared ourselves "enlightened.
" "The dark age of horrors is past," said my mother to me in 1952, seven years after our people went up in smoke, leaving a few teeth, a pile of bones.
The smoke curls and beckons.
It is blue & lavender & green as the undersea world.
It will take us, too.
O let us not go sheepishly clinging to our nakedness.
But let us go like witches sucked heavenward by the Goddess' powerful breath & whistling, whistling, whistling on our beautiful brooms.

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