Secure darkness during the daytime—
tempt the moon down so that it cracks a hillside,
dispensing night into rock.
Search for soft mud and large feathers,
discarded bird nests, shells, and large palm fronds—
they are the treasures a proper cave needs.
Capture some fog, old animal bones—
enclosed, they will dance furiously as if stuck
in a washing machine.
Smooth the walls of your space—
saliva and dew, hands freckled with liver spots,
and constant, circular strokes.
Sense what remains outside as you
make your cave your own—cast a spell to keep
your space free from intruders.
Know that nighttime can be permanent
in a cave—your time inside will give you dreams
in which you fly to the stars.
Consider putting in a door to signal
to others that not everyone is welcome, that the sun
remains an enemy—
that the shedded skin of snakes
is more important than company, and that shadows
are only darkness crying in the light.
Mary Christine Delea has a Ph.D. and is a former university professor. Her poems have appeared in a full length collection, The Skeleton Holding Up the Sky, three chapbooks, and numerous journals and anthologies, including most recently and upcoming in Blood Orange Review, [alternate route], The HitchLit Review, and Clamor. She does volunteer work for a variety of nonprofit organizations. Her website includes a blog where she posts poems she likes twice a week and writing prompts every Sunday; the site is found at http://www.mchristinedelea.com.
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