The Spells of Earth

Steve Klepetar


I beat the green drum, tightly stretched skin of body's words.
I call on motion. Let it stream electric, soul of wind.
I cast the spells of earth.
Grandfather, I cast the spells of earth.
In the bones of your death, I cast the spells of earth.
I embrace your thin hands, against my cheek
I embrace your sunken flesh, your rags, the ruin of your white hair.
Grandfather, dead at Auschwitz, I cast the spell of earth.
My face bleeds tears.
I climb into your torn pocket, crawl back deep into your broken life.
I breathe your smoke into my lungs. At Birkenau I cast the spells of earth.
At Auschwitz and Terezin I cast the spell. I beat the green drum,
the body's words, your daughter's strong life thread tenacious in the wind.
I cast the spells of earth.
Grandmothers, I cast the spells of earth.
I call you from the furnace; I call your blood from ash heaps and your bones
from mass graves.
I cast the spell of earth.
I call up your faces from photographs, I call your bodies from story's breath,
I conjure your names: Herta and Theresa.
I call up your touch from past's black night.
Tears stream in the dust. I kneel and cast the spells of earth.

RV



Copyright 1995 Kaleidoscope. Write Place. Volume 6.
Contributors retain all rights to their work.
URL: http://leo.stcloud.msus.edu/kaleidoscope/volume6/page7.html