Latest Poem: Witch

Witch

Here's what even the men who waited along the river understood:
that given time, I would slit their throats.

I was not my mother's daughter, no nursemaid
lives in this heart.
Briars took bits of flesh as they walked me to the water,
but I did not misstep—
there is truth in what I do.

No flowers for the dead will grow here,
only the blood
that blooms from the cut.

I'll have my revenge.

I'll have the thing.

I'll see them impaled
on their own phallic hands.


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Photographer Laura J W Ryan
Poem completed 3/2014