When the veil thins.
Hsst! They are all around us,
cheek by jowl with us,
usually unseen, unheard,
unfelt behind a veil
like the caul around
a magic newborn.
Rarely we can sense them.
Hair stands up on back of neck,
we feel an ephemeral caress,
we faintly hear somebody speak,
or growl or moan or laugh.
Usually we do not perceive.
On Samhain night the veil thins
to insubstantiality as
old year dissolves into new.
World and otherworld blur into
each other; we call the names of those
who died, to help them on their way.
Countless ancestors stand beside
ancient gods, fae folk quite unlike
Tinkerbell, strange creatures winged
and scaled, humans like unto
beasts, beasts like unto humans,
looking for hospitality,
with appetites for feasts like ours,
or fresh killed flesh and blood; check
their teeth but not too close; their
teeth will tell true true tales of
what they truly crave from us.
Best to make sacrifice to thank
benevolence, appease wickedness.
Put out varied foodstuffs for them,
burn fresh written poems
or locks of hair, pour out
draughts of wine, mingled with
just a few drops of your blood.
They bear gifts for us as well,
blessings, fortunes told, wisdom
of ages past we sorely need,
courage, strength, unbound sensuality.
Best we honor bargains and exchanges.
One day we’ll be the ones behind the veil.
~ Wry Welwood
13th of October, 2021
Written in response to Christina M. Ward’s POMprompt#28:Getting Freaky with it.