Bargains and Spirits
I brewed water for tea
silver kettle hissing
on the stove,
leaned forward to stretch,
kettle sputtered, screamed —
leaned up too fast,
destination: migraine city.
Clasping elbow to elbow,
I cut the heat,
hung inverted, breathing
in and out
until the world
stopped spinning.
Poured a cup
the wise tea tag said:
Talking to plants
is a way of talking
directly to Spirit.
We struck a bargain that day,
Spirit and I,
bonded with silent handshake,
part of this life, for that life —
a new eternal compromise.
I’d give a daily hour
of life’s sunlight
to planting love among thorns,
spending each day
from now until forever
quietly tilling seeds,
with the promise to
no longer mourn two soul-tied sisters
revolving endlessly apart.
In return, all the world’s evils
would never follow
never harm
never steer us—
two brilliant orbs,
mercurial beams of light,
refracting colors and patterns
we can’t explain,
capricious sinners at worst
whimsical friends at best
more alike than different
from most we call kin.
It’s a pervasive thing, having hope —
the world never seems to have enough,
but souls never run low,
tied together until the end;
I struck a bargain that day,
and I’d do it again and again
as above — so below,
planetary twin flames
clasped elbow to elbow.
© Alexandra Bragg, 2022.
