Front Porch Ceremonies

The cigarette becomes the tobacco offering
As we push ourselves backwards and forwards
The porch swing shifting to horse for the journey
We leave our children warm and satisfied with chocolate
The men retreating to their silence, bellies round from feasts
No longer gathered or nourished by breath to hand

It is "our therapy" we laugh and say as we gather
Over cooling cups of coffee and tea
The distance between our houses narrowed
Through words spoken and pauses shared
It is what keeps us sisters

We feed our ceremonial fire with laughter
Stacked and stored in rows measured by daily events
We seek the purification given through the waters that flow
Over dishes, across hands and the tiny bodies of our children
These waters gather and become storms behind the caves of our eyes

Our Grandmothers, awakened by this ceremony; roll over inside us
And find their way through torn screen doors
Shaking rattles of waggish privity
Their gift to the fire the truth of who we are