Thursday Poem - You Can't Be Too Careful

Spring storm and hail of ice cubes

pummels my town and no other.

There was a time when townspeople

would call this fall the wrath of God

or work of witches. A lower profile

may have saved some crones

renowned for bitter herbs, odd dames

you went to in the woods for troubles.

But some would go on being busybodies

and scolds dragged out, dunked, drowned

or hung like limp, forgotten fruit

from gallows trees. Scarecrows and

cautionary tales. And truly the crows

flee from our town screaming

blue murder, scarier than a siren.

Even in these enlightened times,

some of us still go warily,

keeping secret our wild simples,

asking nothing for our quirky blessings.

Dolores Stewart Riccio, from The Nature of Things