Legend of Riverdale Road

Mansion mortared
with petrified bones,
phantom stones,
something charred.

Hands that shape
sap into birdlime,
fistfuls of time.
So difficult to take

old witch’s gray hair,
can’t find the path to lay
the charm (instead of sage),
can’t save from haunted air.

 

Inspired by Lorine Niedecker’s ‘New Goose’ poems

 

 

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