The Broom: A Halloween Poem

THE BROOM

—

She picks up her broom.

Rising into the air, she throws back her head and laughs,
Her long, black hair and cape trail behind her in the wind.

All is still and quiet up there,
A tranquility she can never enjoy on earth.

Far below, she hears the muffled voice
Of a child calling out for his mother.

She flies higher.

But the voice grows louder, more insistent.
She can no longer ignore it.

The broom descends and guides her to
The little boy in distress.

She lands in front of him.

He gazes up at her with wide eyes
And tugs on her skirt.

“Mommy,” he says,
“What are you doing with that broom?”

She sighs.

“I’m sweeping the floor, of course,
What else would one possibly do with a broom?”

Margo Lestz