S H O E S  S P E L L

The A, the E, the I, the O, the U

Mirrors dissolving on my tongue,

Eclipsing my breath.

I AM . . . dot dot

A pot of luck

Next to my best shoes on my altar.

Is it tonight I sink that boat

Of my last judgment?

‘Not I’, said I, ‘will live with ghosts,

The ghosts of language,

The ghosts of what dictates I am a queen of something.

My shoes know better when they retrace my steps to the young pauper,

ME. But,

It was my nothing that got the better of you.

I will find you, if I must,

At the bottomless sea where I put you.

But tonight,

Tonight I place my black shoes on my altar,

To venerate the stories that they tell,

While my naked toes sink into lust,

And the telluric forces of what must

Just be.

© Camelia Elias

M O R E  S P E L L S ?  S T A Y  I N  T H E  L O O P.