Never use these words, says Gran
Only in dire emergency
She says in the Romani chib:
“Open the door to Arcana”
In my dazed state
The word eludes me
English tangles with
Two family dialects
Kalderash and Sinte
So I come up with Piro Hudar Arcane
Will have to do
I walk to the edge of the fog
Gran said, Doesn’t matter what country or town
The fog is yours
Three times turn
What’s your favorite number?
Four
Shtar
Chant shtar times for protection
Her voice fades
Early, early in morning
Galbi—gold—in ears and wrists
Step over the vaporous border
Turning, holding
Bal, mutra, shungar, rat
Lock of my still long silver crown
Secret fluids contained inside
Blood of my ancestors
All long ago died
Am I wasting this one chance
Do I really need help
Gran’s voice again
Call help, look up
And listen
See who comes
Here is a coin
Keep it forever
Bring it into the fire
Of the ending of one
Beginning of the next
When do I need help
Who do I call
You will know, said Gran
No, so overwhelmed
Do I use for love or money?
Do I use for health or happiness?
You will know
This misty morning
I think I know
I think I need to not save it
But the doubt
Stuff Gran never explained
Me wondering if half of it
Was made-up shit
To scare, impress
An autistic granddaughter
Whose only power
Was make believe
Falling back on my
Four familiar friends
Phu, Paj, Haburo, Rat
Earth, Water, Air, Fire
How can it be
Do I truly see
Or is it senility
Through the haze appears
A crow-faced man
Holding a stringed instrument
Courier and a harp
Anagrammed
Open the door to arcana
You summoned me
Said he
My honesty wins
I don’t know why I’m here
I don’t know what to do
I do
Let me do the rest
I know
I know all
Misty morning wrapping me
Like the finest silken shawl
I take a deep breath
Close my eyes
See images unknown
To modern tech screens
Hear music unheard
On hides, ivory or fine animal strings
Smell powerful spices
Swirling around my face
Taste prehistoric water
In a state of unbelievable grace
Feeling, feeling
What’s been missing
What has hidden from me
My chaotic decades
Now moving out of the mist
How important was it all?
Asks he
Do you see?
Why did I wait so long to know
How different life could go
Only you have the power of you…
© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Richmond Park Photos
