(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



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