Baba Yaga

Baba Yaga woke today in the form of a sage bag-lady
Weaving tales on the edge of the city exit 93
The Children of the Overpass leaned in to listen
To the words, to the wisdom of the ages and the story set them free
The Crone, our Mother, watched tonight from her vantage point above
In the cloudspace high above the city’s anger from a safer place than we
She watched the Freeway/Cellphone Generation as it shrank away from the real
They called the Highway Patrol to ask Baba Yaga to leave
But she would not be escorted, shook with laughter inside her shawl
Asked the nice young policeman «where shall I go?
Your brothers may witness me tomorrow, hear the same words you resist
Learn from the prophecy that escapes you here, what you refuse to know.»
And she smiled then, all toothless, a Rock of Ages standing still
At the Campfire of Baba Yaga, the Street Children held their Dance
She turned to face the brave ones, those who listened without fear
Those who left their houses, highways, their reality just to hear her speak
All who took that chance
She said «I will be here when you’re ready
My fire will still burn when yours starts to go.»
She said «I have always been here
I with my fearless feet in the snow»"
She said «I'll be here just to watch you grow.»
Daddy’s Little Girl awoke today, in a form all self-sufficience
She packed her bags and left the house long before he rose
He awoke without his coffee, checked her room but she was gone
Gone to meet someone he’d never seen, he smiled and sighed
«she's a woman; it’s the path she chose.»
Well, Daddy’s little woman’s on the edge of town
Can’t remember where she came from
Heaven only knows what’s become of her lover
Left her high and dry we suppose
She lingers on the freeway with her eyes upon the smile
Of the wise and ancient Baba Yaga.' And So It Goes
And I’ll let you know, I’ll let you know, oh…