Trinkets for a Shaman’s Necklace
Bird skull painted blue. Red
glass bead. Arrowhead. Skeleton
key. Tiny corked bottle of water
that fell as hail one green-sky day
in Ohio. Brass pen nib stained black.
Small silk knotted drapery tassel.
Yellow poker chip. Penny flattened
on the track behind the liquor store
where you first tried to kiss a boy.
Honey locust thorn. Pink handkerchief
from your mother’s bureau drawer.
Loose eyelet from a shoe. Shard
of Coke bottle glass. Acorn cap.
Cat whisker. Gold filling. Marble
with a bubble trapped inside.
Name he called you when
he shoved you down.
Twisted
when the trees moaned hard pummeled by what felt
like a fist-fucking wind ramming fast up the bypass
just off our balcony & chain lightning detonations
surrounded us in blue-white strobe-surges crack-
ing the flickering dome thunder rocketing volley
after volley pride flag snapping straight up as if
to fly loose I mistook your clawfooted thoughts
for physical fear but in the mounting roar you
leaned into it all as if you’d summoned your
own whirlwind to grind and scour a path
through the frenzied trees we might at
any moment sail off plucked free
of our need to keep clinging
to the illusion our life
together was worth
the swaddling lies
we foisted upon
each other for
fear of living
without
you or
me
Ron Mohring is the author of Survivable World and several chapbooks. He is the indefatigable force behind Seven Kitchens Press.
