THE MAGICK OF RESILIENCE
Flattened
When life pancakes you
The wicked witch of the west got off easy. A bucket of water put an end to her sufferings. You know the expression, hurt people hurt people.
I’m of the west, too. Yet, while I conjure all sorts of ways to be a less kitschy Glinda,
a twister of spiraling, madly-pedaling homewreckers I no more saw coming than Dorothy did
tore the cellar doors open like a box top — pouring my battered remains into the frying pan,
where stillness drenches and simmers.
Long enough, with enough Grace, for the Trinity within me –
flour dust cast like corpse ash, splattered egg howling, shell bits strung into a rosary, spilt milk bleeding from a cupboard, whimpering –
to coalesce like M-G- and M or lights, camera, action
and rise
from a rainbow reel of steam into words perfectly browned, blockbuster silver dollars of maple-infused bicarbonate wisdom
served up to spare you burning, scraping, thrashing, a trashing.
Ah, a poet with a savior complex can dream…
A victim’s landfill of despair, self-pity, resentment, rage? Recycling’s magick resilience? Which bin will it be, Witch?
Which bin?
©Jenine Bsharah Baines 2021
Men are witches, too.
In fact, we are all witches capable of wielding magick. Whether it is dark or light is, of course, our call.
Obviously, I am still on a Wizard of Oz kick. When I saw Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她)’s prompt regarding pancakes…
…I planned to head to the kitchen, not back to Kansas with Dorothy. Or to 1939 Hollywood and the M-G-M backlot.
Thanks, Lucy, for the home at The Brain is a Noodle. Thank you, dearest readers, for riding the poetic winds with me.
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