The witch

The witch

Day 13: write a poem about something mysterious and spooky. Something that is mysterious and spooky in a bad way (a witch?) or mysterious and spooky in a good way (a witch?). Or just the everyday, mysterious, spooky quality of being alive. 

 I've been interested in witchcraft for a while,  and tend to think that witches were misunderstood and feared because they were different.  Women who shun society are rare,  and therefore mysterious,  and in less enlightened days,  were viewed with suspicion.  Did they have magical powers,  or were they just in touch with aspects of life most people have no time for? 
A voice cries out from the crowd
"You're a witch!"
She recoils, melts into the shadows,
Afraid of what might follow, 
Accusations,  interrogations, humiliations,  
Perhaps worse. 

 She slips away,  glad to be alone, 
Her preferred and natural state.

 At home,  she stands and stares an age at her reflection.
A weathered face bears witness to the passing years
Lined,  bark - wrinkled,
Framed with a halo of coarse,  wild grey hair
A stranger to the comb,
Bristley chin, warty nose, 
She isn't looking her best.

Recalling her pride in her knowledge
Her craft, her healing powers,
Her close connection to the natural world
She smiles,  and suddenly her face
Takes on the shape her wrinkles crease
Around her eyes,  her mouth.
She is transformed.

She whispers a soft incantation.
The bitter crone disappears,
And in her place,  she sees
The beauty of a wise old woman.



© Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

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