Devils in Skirts

Photo by Fa Barboza on Unsplash

Devils in skirts they call us,
Worshippers of Satan, witch,
but I think not,
nothing but a smear campaign
against the power we hold.

Life is more than a gift,
each day invoking the divine into myself,
walking with bare feet on the earth,
taking its essence into myself.

I can smell the fragrance of it,
the subtle scents heavy in the air
that tell me life is everywhere,
the light and the dark, 
waiting to be attuned to our needs,
and we feed on it, as it feeds on us.

As above, so below,
what we call, we get,
with focused intent and 
a gentle heart 
I channel, her, me.

My kitchen is full,
brimming with herbs and flowers,
some fresh, some dried and hanging,
but all serve a purpose,
a reminder, a letter of invitation,
whole, chopped, milled, or ground, 
burned or infused, mixed into foods.

And there on the table, 
a small brazier,
with her breath rising, 
in a curl of blued white smoke, 
white sage, lavender, rosemary, and cedar flakes 
         burn.

The perfume cleansing the room, 
positive energies 
entering through the smoke,
the negative 
escaping through open windows,
and I feel a peace invigorating me.

Devils in skirts they call us,
Worshippers of Satan, witch,
no,
but we are just connected to this world,
the flow of her energies,
the tides pull that roll each day, swelling,
and the blooming of the earth, 
sharing the peace with each other.

©️ Emma Steel

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