healing spells

i read in an old grimoire
that if we are sick we should bury all our hooves. 
we should prepare for winter. we must 
boil a whole tree until it is 
soft as flesh.
i pickle the moon to go with it.
sweet lemon divine. i collect the hooves.
there are never enough.
forkful of rind. all the running that a night does
& yet, unslept & unwavering, it refuses to rest. 
i have tried everything. i have
cleansed myself with an egg. 
read the yolk's bloodied veil. i have called from
a payphone & asked to speak
to the birds. they have responded,
"go to the ocean & lay there 
until you are a local." once i drove my car
underwater. it was in a tunnel but i saw
all the fish. they were holy & unafraid.
i have never been holy or unafraid.
another witch book says
all you need is a candle.
i burn one until it is a thumb. i devour
the writhing peaches with beetles for pits.
i used to like a boy so much 
i went to his bible group. they were the
"lay hands on you" kind of group.
we healed a girl. she laid on her back
& gorged herself on the ceiling. 
my hands tingled after 
& i thought maybe salvation was
this easy. when we were done
we stood on chairs & sang about jesus.
she never came back but i did.
no one ever healed me. instead, i gave someone
my eyes & she made them into a necklace.
somewhere in the deepest intestines 
of the forest, there is a bird in a nest
made of my hair. if i found it
i would sleep there. i would be whole.
it is a nice story isn't it? 
that something of you lives outside of you.
more than a phantom limb.
not a child. a wild tooth. 
a language of balms. singing 
melon girl with all the sugar in the world.