The Voodoo Doll

She feels soft,

on my rough palms

I caress her face,

the stitched eyes

glare back at me.

I worked many nights

trying to create

an another me.

 

The day has come.

The final test.

 

She rests calm

on my couch

I make a fine cut

on her belly,

fill it with rice grains

and stitch it back

to create a soul.

as the lore goes.

 

I hold firm,

the thick green lock,

drag her slow,

through the creaking floorboards,

sweeping the dirty floor

as I head for the closet.

 

I lie in bed,

rolled up like a rag,

eyelids shut,

ears sharp and alert.

Clock makes ticking noise,

the faint churchbell marks midnight.

 

I can hear the dance beginning

The soft thudding

in a rhythm with a pause.

The closet is alive

with more thudding

and speeding pace.

I hear it all

The Death Dance.

 

Everything stops......

 

I open my eyes

feeling pained.

Head feels heavy

I go numb.

The closet is dark

I try to breathe.

The bell signals midnight.

Slowly I rise.

 

Now is my turn

To perform the Death Dance.

I can feel her, 

lying in my bed. 

Waiting for the noise.