always, I’m a witch
or some similar word
whatever it takes to keep me
silent and sleeping with you
work in the textile mills
till my hands are ruined
blackface, so you can call
me other, throw me out
but walnut husks have
their own perfume
dreadlocks are in–
haven’t you heard?
and nettle soup is all the rage
with wild-foraging locavores
glass, iron, stone, it’s been
worn smooth, been mingled
today, I found eleven
white feathers by the ocean
tomorrow, I will give away
winter coats to the homeless
you can keep your piety, father
I left mine in the churchyard
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 17, Issue 4.
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