Aug 20th 2017
by eva dickerson
I live in a house of unintentional magic
the very best kind.
In our sanctuary, four accidental witches
sweep it out of the corners of our kitchen,
conjure it dancing in the mirror after the shower,
capture accents of it in the air,
jar it in saved bottles of merlot
and sprinkle it all over dinners on the porch
It pulses in the roots of the garden
and filters freely through open windows
dancing in on dustmites
It is welcomed with open arms through the front door
left on the porch in the shoes not allowed on the carpet
It is massaged into natural hair
and mixed into shea,
spread into savory skin
It bounces off giggles in the living room
at 3am
and settles in the fibers of our carpet
ground in by dancing feet,
stomps of surging jubilee.
In a little orange house
in south west atlanta
four sister witches call creation
with their joy
they manifest miracles and mystery
On whim
call to the universe for tender summers
and set intentions for unworldly things
wisdom and pleasure, compassion and life
In a little orange house
four sister witches bless sunsets
from inside the moon.