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Bells and Drums

The bell in the telephone ringing, that was the call

to the fairy realms, these places of abiding.

A thunderstorm drummed the day to soot.

Filthy weather.

“Marsha’s dead,” you sobbed, but

the sob was more of a shout.

The line crackled, and I was sure

rain had bled into the phone lines.

A darkness opened: a dark circle

opened. In my mind, electrical burns stained

your fingers. Little jolts flickered into my ear

charring stars into the flesh, tattooing

a constellation of scars so that I could always

find my way back.

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