We are pleased to present our next Poet to Notice: Martin Willitts Jr.
We hope you enjoy these three poems as much as we did.
At Sunflower’s End
A goldfinch is after
a drooping sunflower’s black-oil seeds.
The flower bends with its slight weight.
The finch flinches,
noticing a feral cat’s intent
on getting its fill. The sense of danger and
risk are weighing the same
as a small bird. There is a twitch
of anticipation, a rain of yellow feathers.
“– gaelic for vision, imagining”
Aisling is a spell to bring a person you desire to you
This is how to get the one you love
without working at it. First,
get a spell-book. Find one that talks
if you want a shortcut. One that smells
of rotted toadstools. Newts are better —
the more evil the intent,
the stronger the spell.
Next, get a white candle.
If it is stolen from a church
during a service
in front of shocked witnesses,
it will add a little spice to the wax
as it bursts, incessantly.
Get a picture of your intended one.
If the picture blurs being developed,
you will know
nothing will develop from the relationship.
Time is the best developer,
but you have no time for this.
Expedience is the goal of a watchful mind.
Watch the one you desire
when they are not aware;
it adds goosebumps to their flesh
and will increase the spell tenfold.
Find something they like
and put it next to their picture.
Focus on these two items
as the candle melts into desire.
In between the flame,
chant the name of the person
even if you do not know their name.
It doesn’t matter.
All this will add up immeasurably.
Your spell will be accepted.
That person will have no choice
but to be in love with you.
They will not know
magic holds you together.
Open the spellbook of their heart.
It will burn as a white candle.
Driving through thick sheets of snow,
far from anywhere he needed to be, far
from on time, his mind a blizzard of activity.
He never saw it coming. The next he knew,
he was jet-propelled
into a wall of whiteness, like honking geese.
He felt heaviness lifting, a great pressure,
like heavy-duty snow tires. Like a gentle kiss
from a demon. There was nothing below.
He never felt the landing. Never felt
his body lunge through glass in a swan dive.
The last thing he saw
was a man swimming in snow to get to him,
snow smacking that man with fists.
The nothingness came to his rescue,
late as usual.