Beloved Witch

by Alexan­dra Seidel

Swipe me away with a broom
like dirt
this would suit your nature I suppose
as you are a witch
—did you real­ly think that you could hide it?

the smell of herbs
perched like a dev­il on your shoulder
when oth­er women walk the path
of flower petals or frankincense
toads and cats that greet you
and for­est trees that part
their branch­es for your passing

there have been mid­nights when,
think­ing me asleep,
I saw you danc­ing with the moon
and call to the stars with a sibyl’s voice and
I didn’t mind
I know what you can do with a mandrake’s
limbs, severed
and with mere words, enlaced
I know where you keep your needles
and your yarn
and I saw you whis­per words
into the ears of all the babes
you helped deliver

So if
you say that you love me not
and want me to leave
and have the nerve to blame the horns
and the cleft foot and—why—even
the dark col­or of my eyes that look
like the silent waters of a star­lit lake
before the moon is born,
at least use your broom on me
not the sharp edges
of your serpent’s tongue

or rather
be honest

say—if you can—that the horns
or the foot or the eyes
are real­ly all the reason,
(and you must mean it too!)
not your ten­der fear of
lov­ing and being loved in turn
or of chil­dren grow­ing from your own lap

say it, if you can, I dare you
and if you say it, if you can
I’ll leave and won’t return.

What do you say?
Do we have our­selves a bargain,
witch beloved?

Alexan­dra Sei­del writes poems and sto­ries of the omi­nous, the macabre, the myth­i­cal and every so often, the com­i­cal. She swears, some­times ideas come to her all fan­cy dressed with paint­ed masks of scar­let and emer­ald, sil­ver and gold. Thanks to some strange­ly good for­tune, her work is (or soon will be) Out There: Bull Spec, Strange Hori­zons, Cab­i­net des Fées, Poe Lit­tle Thing and oth­ers. Being a writer, Alexan­dra keeps a mangy blog right here:

Sorry, Comments are closed.