Vanilla Bean, Split

scraped away from its husk
fragrant pulp chopped
tossed into a small clay pot
to steep. Its essence
rises in a steam cloud
pervades the room
infuses itself
in bubble, hiss.

It is magic, this water
makes the sick well
banishes diurnal demons
from the doorstep.
Hang the husks
in the archway,
an admonition
against evil.

Robert Beveridge has recently had work appear in Guide to Kulchur, Rat’s Ass Review, and Sonic Boom, among others. When not writing poems, he can usually be found making uncomfortable noises with computers (xterminal.bandcamp.com). He lives just outside Cleveland, Ohio.