We weren’t sure.
We asked the oracle—miracle of the mercurial.
Don’t buckle, reader.
Lucille utilized it religiously—
summoning spirits, invoking ghosts
as she conjured the departed
in their alchemy with questions. Lit beeswax candles
circling her abundant garden
of greens and sweet potatoes, prepared
to reach beyond arias of the flesh.
You will remember, reader, she was wild with divinity—
prophetic, the seer we all seek to learn from.
To be taught by the mistress
of soothsayers
is to hang your senses out
in the tallest trees, closer to clouds, for devotions
with her soul, her six children, her six toes
on each foot, that extreme depth
of gentleness, as she blesses the boats
before departing the harbor
of the dead.