Balsamic by Danielle Perry

Slowly I made altars all over the apartment. I was preparing
but for what I didn’t know / something was coming or
something was changing / maybe I mean someone / maybe
I mean me. I thought of her, desperately, endlessly. I wished
I had a name to call her by. The fairy stories taught me
names are power / that to know something’s true name is
to have power over it / if I knew her name I could call her
by it and she would have to come. I wanted her to come.
The altars seemed the next best thing to a name.
The moon was just a shard of light in the sky
and I was waiting / for what would cut next.

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