I spent hours
writing
you snaked by
underground roots
entering my story
with your
forked stick
‘Witches’ are a
lie that christians
made up
to legitimize
harm done
to our kind
Artists, Writers,
Healers,
Visionaries,
Trees,
(men too)
Women whose
Difference
others defined.
Nature defiled.
Hazel Tree’s
spindles
golden fingers
shoot seeds
like stars
twist magic
flowers capsules
next year’s buds
into One
each twig
sprouts wings
invoking
Hecate’s moon
a bouquet of
branches rising
over
troubled waters
mourning
those
she loved
and lost.
Mother Root
I still long
for the mother
I adored
We gazed
at each other
through a shattered
mirror
I was confused
Lost, didn’t she see?
She almost destroyed me
sold me to
a mountain’s worth
of mourning
yet in
the end
leaving autumn behind
sitting in a circle of ashes
Love survived.
Grieve on.
I did not
make the choices
she did
to separate
myself from
those
I loved,
but it was
their choice
too and
who
knows
who was harmed
in between
broken relationships
like dreams
run deep
crossroads
only a fork
in the road
take both
and unite
mycelia running
Regeneration
ahead.
.