Voice from the Void

A whisper emanates from the dark



By LaVern Spencer McCarthy

At the table, a séance—
Eyes are closed, hands clasp
other hands.
Jewels on wealthy fingers generate
prisms by candlelight.
The medium moans, calling Fred,
lost at sea a year ago.
behind her rolled-back eyes
she thinks of money to be made,
ignores tears
of  Fred's aging wife who cannot find his will,
is lonely and troubled.
Lightning cracks! thunder rolls!
a large conch shell appears, hovering.
The medium shrieks.
A sign!
She listens at its mouth.
It is only a spirit trying to deceive.
Angry at the interruption, she intones,
"Hear me," her turban knocked askew
by those whose fear have made them bolt.
Fred does hear--a sigh upon the wind,
but then he returns
to his balding, pot-bellied life
among the tall, blonde babes who romp
on the beaches of St. Criox.