January #2

Paper Currency

The circle is cast,

we are between the worlds

of dark and light.

We hold strips of bark

from a gum tree that gives of itself

in summer.

On the bark,

beige-smooth one side,

dark brown and coconut rough on the other,

we have written those berry bits of ourselves

we wish to purge.

One by one,

we toss them into the fire,

shouting goodbyes

(and good riddance).

The cauldron fire leaps red to orange.

Sparks fly, and are stamped out

on the dry ground.

Mother Gaia, Father Chronos,

take this earth-money to the gods.

With empty branches within us,

we call for the good to come;

spiral from the sky and fill us.

— Helen Patrice