Walter Conley

BITCHCRAFT
(For Janelle)

A woman I once met
Introduced me to some women
Who gathered
Once weekly
At a Water Street hotel
With their needles
And their thread
Heavy scents and girly gossip
And it all seemed rather I don’t know
Until they started sewing
Up
Each other
Yes, that’s what I said
Together, I mean
In a ring of screaming needle-point
And—that cannot be—laughter

Well, I ran so fast
That I even lost my socks
And got a splinter
From the banister
That I still can’t get out

Sometime later
I walked into her
And
Rightly or wrongly
I decided to go stomping back
And put them
In their place

I now go back there
Every Tuesday
And almost enjoy the healing
Quite as much as

I do feeling
That I’ve found

A cloth embrace

***

You start to ask–

Then mumble off

To nowhere

Or somewhere

That doesn’t wait on

Breath and desire

I’m glad you do

You’re not talking

To me, anyway

You almost reach

But can’t–

And so you turn

As if to Go

Girl, you either

Have the answer

Or don’t really want

To hear it
And we Damned
Well

Know
That I don’t

Have one to give

***

There’s a face in the photo
Of the corner
Where you died
I snapped it up with my
Nine-
Dollar camera
The tenth shot of
Ten
Which loaded on the Dell
Apart from the others, the
One
And only stray
As if it had been taken
On some other day
Instead of the weekend
That I saw Hell