Curandera ~Dusty

A magnet seeking iron, my soul sought her source
in ancient mystical feminine sancta.
I dreamed of back alleys in Samarkand,
medieval murmurs in cold, damp cloisters--
vapored knowledge of birth, life, death,
throbbing mystery and sultry ritual,
fables passed furtively, one lifegiver to another
witcheries treasured since the debut of time.

Memorizing anatomy my brain envied answers;
chemistry, pharmacology lured my lust.
Shadowing the nuns I coveted the magic;
lurking in libraries I sniffed for secrets;
I practiced on oranges the tricks of the trade.
Awaiting anointment in the capping ceremony,
checking the mirror for a glimpse of the aura,
craving the quiver of sorceress flesh,
in the dark of my closet I willed my fingers
to glow with the power
the touch of the forbidden
the trace of the divine
the talent for miracles
the power to heal.

A year later beneath my secular hands
lies Humpty Dumpty in green fatigues.
Forsaken by grace in an unholy place
this boy and I run out of time.
He will never grow withered and old,
I am a crone forever after this day.
I do nothing save hold his hand
until someone he trusts
beckons from the other side.
As my reflection dims in his eyes
he whispers a thank you;
his deathsmile grants me the goal of my quest.
At that sacred moment I know
I know
I am the healer.
The magic is mine.