there will be a final october,
dried blood mums
burning in the backyard
next to a pile of ashes.

my mother in law
requests to become a tree.
she already is. parts of
herself passed through
branches she grew.

now, she submits
to the seasons. once maiden,
thrice mother, now crone,
roots wrap around
her wrists.

we dig a hole,
rosemary oil
permeating our palms.
the seed planted.

permission scrawled in runes
by candlelight, the ring of
protection grows.

there is a death rattle.
there is an open window
every samhain,
just for her.

---

strega clare manning is a baltimore based poet. she has been previously published in Bullshit Lit, fifth wheel press, Indie Blu(e) Publishing, Bi Women Quarterly, and Voicemail Poems. when she’s not writing, she’s playing with her cats, gardening with her partner, and lifting heavy weights. you can find her on instagram @stregashewrote.