Loaves steam, apple scent curls and twists from the cauldron;
hot breathy spells rise and pop with piquant punctuation
in Mother Holle’s kitchen.
Her sinister hand conjures incantations,
her dexter spins and weaves them needle prick by needle prick
into something lyrical and more poetic.
She no longer has the youth and charms
to lure suspicious folk and naïve children to her arms
but she possesses the magic of a flower
that blossoms by moonlight at the midnight hour,
white as a feathering of snow, its crystal petals spreading
an eiderdown to keep roots and bulbs warm for spring.
In the village, windows, doors and shutters are closed,
and wise women mutter as they nod their heads:
“Wrap up warm, Mother Holle is making her bed”.
Kim M. Russell, 2017
Magaly is our host this Tuesday. She says, if winter is dancing towards our bit of the world, she hopes we are making plans to stay warm, which is why I’ve posted a newly written wintry poem! Thanks for reminding me that I need some new crazy socks, Magaly!