Witching

I have a sister…
She’s a wild green-herb woman
a bare-toes-in-the-garden sun woman
a trout-brown-freckled milkskin
a windsock fire-tassel
a brewer-of-sorcerous-teas woman.
Tall green corn salutes her.
Seeds toil mightily for her.
Her kitchen groans with ecstasy.
Such luscious scents fly out her window
bees fold wings in worship.

I have a second sister…
She’s a dark-cowled bone woman
a firelight-and-shadows moon woman
a bare slim-willow night dance
a spark-jeweled wind passion
a weaver-of-conjuring-words woman.
Candle flames reflect her.
Blood rises like music for her.
Her poems seduce and ravish.
Such tidal deeps move in her veins
sailors are imperiled.

What of the third sister…
I’m a winter wolf’s-howl ghost woman
a break-your-fist stone woman
a down-dark-dizzy spiral
a snow-voiced root witch
a see-you-in-the-dark woman.
The lonesome dead attend me.
Clocks fold their hands for me.
My nights are origami traps.
Such crows take wing behind my eyes
hearts stop to track their flight.

e. yon/2002 (from Fruit & Bones)

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