Talking to Toci

When the first moon of this sudden savage spring Kisses closed the eyes of midnight, I will go with the wind To my Grandmother’s house in the woods. Goodness haunts my heart. She demands just reckonings. “Set your sins before me,” She invites. “Number them all. I pick every bone clean.” “Life is more than lovings,” She says, rocking by the hearth, “Than being willing To die or kill.” I sort out baskets of herbs Wash her feet. Clip her toenails, Pour catnip tea. She teaches me To eat my dead. “Creation is yours, Your heart is your own. You are never so wise As when you think you are not.” She croons, cradling my face Between her wizened hands, “You jade, Little moonstone, you wandering star.” Baby owls and tree frogs watch As she casts lots with outgrown hearts, With the broken jawbones of forgotten lovers. “To live for another Is a poor gift,” she repeats As she unbraids my hair. Crickets sing Toci Toci Until morning finds me Shining alone.