Six fingers on each hand?
“You’re born to hang”
the saying goes!
And so you did at sweet sixteen,
accused of being Witch.
Then cast onto the pyre,
your tortured body raised itself
as sinews tightened in the heat
and all about you screamed
“She was a witch indeed!”
You dug for Mandrake
by the dark of moon,
ears protected from its shriek,
to make a potion for a lass
as barren as a Winter fallow field.
To know so much
you had to be a witch!
Had you not devil’s spawn -
a cat who followed every step
and hung besides you on the gallows?
I gather Herbs.
Speedwell, Slippery Elm & Peppermint
Plaintain, Passionflower & Mallow
to name but few-
and no one says a word.
I know you
Salem Sister.