We don't celebrate rites of Initiation in the suburbs.
We don't know how.
My young son raked leaves by himself
for money negotiated beforehand.
He put leaves under his pillow that night
to wish on, he said.
Had to be Oak, caught mid-flight.
(I think, Be careful of what you wish:
Aunt Helen had to die to leave us money.)
All the kids do it, he said.
That night I pray there's safety in numbers,
tear at the sheets and dream
of the face behind the veil.
by Ann Ahnemann on Saturday, October 22, 2011
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