The kitchen witch

still hangs

in the window

Dangling from a string

along with spirits and distant echos

she moves ever so slightly

as if a ghost had passed

a little too close

The sun shines on her

and on the button

the witch always wears

I heart Rhode Island

Empty rooms

now waiting for new life

furniture marks on carpet

ashes in the fireplace

Stillness in the living room

sounds of Jobim

remembering Gamboa

embedded in the walls

The bedroom silent

but for faint murmurs

of passion and love

the children didn’t hear

He takes  the kitchen witch

and with one last look

closes the door and

carries  it to the car

She sits next to him

on the front seat

next to the bronze box

engraved with pine needles

And the kitchen witch says

“You mustn’t look back”

as he points the blue jeep

south toward the sun.