Spells

A late summer’s evening air speaks in scents and flowers.

Too hot in houses, windows open,

Woven spells of young girls are seen at screens

Or appearing in backlit doorways, hallways, stairways.

Some carelessly, some ceaselessly, fan themselves,

Turning to the breeze.

Effortlessly dressed in diaphanous clothing, organdy, organza,

Poplin, crinoline, calico patterns, or lace,

Each face reflects a resurrected beauty.

In a combined ritual, they bind or unbind their hair,

New and never new, eternal operations.

The clock chimes, heard in the night,

Gives distinction to the hours,

Forever sounding in the same house in flowing generations,

The best of silk stockings, dressing gowns and hand-me-downs.

This night and in this light, there are only these young girls,

And soon, slowly, and one by one,

By candle or by incandescent light,

Silently explaining themselves in mirrors,

Growing weary of the explanation and finding it late,

Reach hands over wicks, or turning a switch,

Extinguish the flame.

April 22, 1987