I sweep cinnamon on hearth,
drag rosebuds, lavender, black pepper
in small circles on floorboards.
Sprinkle salt and dried daisies,
remember spring lilacs,
cherish yellow ginkgo fans,
blow kisses to spiders in the corners,
yell love letters to the ghosts
of my ghosts,
sweep and tangle herbs
flowers to lane.
Shift myself
into kitchen
cut oranges and lemons.
Cut apples, let the pentacle
show and brush the lemon on
to prevent browning.
Cut flowers from the garden
and from the grocery store,
make wishes on bay leaves
and sink them into savory juice,
simmer with honey and cinnamon sticks,
cloves and clover,
murmur dreams, leave penance,
hum and whisper.
Let the fresh scent balm into abundance,
not just coins,
but love, luck, friendship,
and living to live.
[Kim Malinowski is a lover of words. She is the author of four books with two forthcoming in the next year. She writes because the alternative is unthinkable.]
