The shadow of a six-foot
crucifix stretches across
the back lawn, half-hidden by
walls of red climbing roses.
Hawthorne, lemon grass, and herbs
line the stone circle around
the old house, scenting the air
with protective promises.
A ball of virgin wool and
knitting needles hand-carved from
Jerusalem olive wood—
sharpened to a lethal point—
sit on the weathered porch swing.
Beyond the garden, hidden
in the trees, a well-tended
still continually brews
garlic-flavored moonshine with
Reverend-blessed holy water.
Silver-beaded scarves and shawls
hang in rooms to ward off chill
and unwanted visitors.
Generations of wisdom
taught by grannies fills the home
and defends when vampyr hunt.