Croc Boy
dreamed 2008/8/17 by Wayan
My sister and I go visit the Crone.
Her thatched home, low and long, broods on an oval traffic-isle. That gray Roraima rears a full yard above pave. On the concrete lip the Crone's initiates sleep. For Crone is a witch-smeller--
Her own grandson, in his teens,
Smoggy salmon dawn-glow.
Not a snake, because my tail
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Witch-Smeller looms with a foot-long knife
Overheard snake and that's enough. A lost moan, long and low. She says "Leave. This I do alone: the hardest thing a mother's called to do-- kill a serpent-son." My sister Miriel stands breast to knife!
And other Crones all over town
Witch-Smeller rants, long and low;
A few years later I visit. He's fine.
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NOTES
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