Smudge
After mom died,
my cousin burnt sage,
smudged every room
in the house
to erase lingering pain
from traumatic transition.
Across the street,
a neighbor ignites silvery leaves
crumbled into an abalone shell,
wafts smoke indoors,
around yard perimeter,
effaces her intolerant brother’s
cruel political ravings.
How I wish we could kindle
healing bonfires around the world,
eliminate evil energy,
offer our sick planet a cure
for hatred, oppression,
purify our souls,
deliver spiritual ablation.
Jennifer Lagier lives a block from the stage where Jimi Hendrix torched his guitar during the 1967 Monterey Pop Festival. She taught with California Poets in the Schools, edits the Monterey Review, helps coordinate Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium reading series. Jennifer has published twenty-two books, most recently Weeping in the Promised Land (Kelsay Books), Postcards from Paradise (Blue Light Press).
Website: jlagier.net
Facebook: www.facebook.com/JenniferLagier/
After mom died,
my cousin burnt sage,
smudged every room
in the house
to erase lingering pain
from traumatic transition.
Across the street,
a neighbor ignites silvery leaves
crumbled into an abalone shell,
wafts smoke indoors,
around yard perimeter,
effaces her intolerant brother’s
cruel political ravings.
How I wish we could kindle
healing bonfires around the world,
eliminate evil energy,
offer our sick planet a cure
for hatred, oppression,
purify our souls,
deliver spiritual ablation.
Jennifer Lagier lives a block from the stage where Jimi Hendrix torched his guitar during the 1967 Monterey Pop Festival. She taught with California Poets in the Schools, edits the Monterey Review, helps coordinate Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium reading series. Jennifer has published twenty-two books, most recently Weeping in the Promised Land (Kelsay Books), Postcards from Paradise (Blue Light Press).
Website: jlagier.net
Facebook: www.facebook.com/JenniferLagier/
