
(Why we Gypsies and Slavs bring bread, salt & a broom into a new home):
Moving day, what can I say, I move all the time
Seeking perfection, not soulmate defection, relationships sometimes a crime
Burn barrel takes, my latest heartaches, as I toss away possessions
Now I’m down to eight, plastic crates, getting rid of old connections
Stuff crammed in a backpack, because suitcases I lack, keeps me portable
I own lots of boots, and old workplace suits, for which I’m sometimes thankful
The universe is insensible, ignoring my tears is reprehensible, I am all alone
But then I recall, a faithful thrall, my domovoi home chaperon
I must persuade, the guard of my enfilade, to happily accompany me
There he will rest, while doing his best, to protect against an enemy
I cannot forget, that he must be tempted by sunset, or he will readily desert
There are only two treats, bread and salt but no meats, his attention to divert
When these element-bound delights, that make him contrite, are brought to a new home
The domovoi eats, and gladly repeats, his promise to protect when I roam
Salt of the sea, sprinkled lightly, on his temptation meal
Bread of the soil, dipped in salt and oil, makes the new home real
A broom is also joy, to drive away a rival domovoi, beat the wall and shout
“Begone to your old space, you are in the wrong place, please get out!”
So whenever you move, be sure to improve, your chances for protection
Remember the recipe, so your domovoi will be happy, and show his affection.
© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija