It’s nearly midnight and I’m
sitting in the booth by the window of the bar
in the very seat she sat in during our second and final date
She told me she used to own a witchcraft shop
in San Francisco’s Mission District.
She also told me about a house she owned
in Yuba City. The husky of one of her tenants
had dug up a number of objects in the backyard,
including a doll head and some coyote bones
and a ceramic pot containing a human skull.
She explained that the things had been buried
by a former roommate of hers, a shaman
of some sort, as part of some ritual.
She had a lot of interesting stories.
I enjoyed her company.
She dropped me off at home afterwards.
I gave her a goodbye hug. She seemed
taken aback, offended even.
I imagined her jet black hair streaming from her head
her eyes wild as she wrapped her clawsaround her phone and deleted my number.