Sunday Coven
“We weren’t a church family but on Sunday, my Dad
would impart his version of an evening sermon
on the decks. Stevie Nicks uttered husky incantations,
whirling her shawl as she drew invisible sigils in the air.
Then Debbie Harry spat rage into a cracked bottle
of bleach and turned it back on the world, threefold. ...”
About the poem
Sunday Coven was published in the special Father’s Day edition of Good Dadhood in June 2020.
Often my poems are complete invention, or else they’re careful reworking of elements of my past - generally I am not sentimental about historical accuracy if I can write a better poem by editing the facts. In this case, however, everything in the poem is true. I was brought up without religion, we did used to listen to my parents’ albums on a Sunday night and I do now look back and feel gratitude for how my Dad inadvertently provided me with a coven of powerful women to admire.
At the time, I didn’t associate rock music with religion, it was mostly the fact that there was nothing on TV on Sundays back in the 80s. The longer I live, the more often music saves me from the brink, I wonder if it is as close as I will get to a spiritual life. It’s not perfect, but there are are many worse viewpoints for young girls than wanting to be Stevie Nicks when they grow up. (Honestly, I still want to be Stevie Nicks when I grow up.)
As I said, everything in this poem is true. Dad did play a Norah Jones album on repeat so often the carers worried about him. I did choose to play Ella Fitzgerald at his funeral. Most of all, I do think this deep connection to music which began in my childhood and became so inextricably linked to powerful women is something I will carry with me forever.