To cleanse a home
of bad smells, those old
burn pits from decades ago;
bring to the earth and our hands
large gusts of rich white billows;
welcome guests, let it travel
through their hair and fingers
as we pass around the burner
small waves of heat on our skin;
expelling bad spirits on Friday mornings
as my mother in a prayer garment
carries the smoke into every corner,
light reflecting off the gulf
through our window; taking
us through time to sit with the prophet
who drops more chips on the burner,
new scripture curls off his lips.