Smoking Mirror?

Smoking Mirror?
O Lord Smoking Mirror?
Are you here?
I crave, I do,
To speak with you.
In the sand I found
An obsidian sphere
A hole plunging
Eternally deep
And here, as I bent
To peer into its depths,
I thought of you
Fluttering in my mind.
Lord Smoking Mirror,
I think you’ve been about,
Creeping in corners,
Poking your nose
Through veils to peer.
Last night I sat at the feet
Of the great Lord Anpu,
Dark skinned,
Feverish in mist,
And found dreams of clouds,
Ancestral memories of
The Little Deaths in us all,
And you lurked on the bed,
Observing, with a cheshire grin.
Lord Smoking Mirror,
I thought I’d seen you here
Wearing rat-torn hats,
Painted like a merchant man,
Speaking with our Papa Legba
Down at the old crossroads.
What was it about which you’d chat,
O god of slaves and kings?
What were the words
Your lips did purr
That night at the old crossroads?
Feel free, I know you do,
To whisper in my ear
For I really wish to speak with you,
Oh Smoking Mirror.

[Tahni Nikitins has been a practicing pagan for seven years, though dedicated to no one pantheon or Deity, and has been writing since she could maneuver a writing utensil. She is currently attending a community college with a psychology major and a minor in comparative religions. She regularly volunteers at Sexual Assault Support Services. ]


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