A Witch Emerges

They said it was madness,

when my voice stopped folding,

my edges now razor tipped.

I stopped nodding like a daisy

in a room full of battleaxes,

and shattered my glass house

with the fluttering of crow's feathers.

I crawled from beneath the wallpaper,

from fingerprint smudges in the corner of mirrors,

draped in the dust of my former silence;

truth, yes,

and love, still,

but also rage.

It was "witchcraft":

my apologies turned to clarity,

'no' stitched into the hem of my dress,

my lips seasoned with wild thyme, dandelions,

and less acquiescence.

I poured rings of salt,

planted boarders of sage,

letting the heat of the sun roast it,

the scent of it enough

to keep their demons out.

Wary women don't gather firewood,

they become the pyre.

I can be your blessing, or your curse.