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The Witch They Failed to Burn


I Am One of the Last

I am herbal remedies smoldering in a cast iron cauldron

Late on an Autumn night

Mulling spices and salted pumpkin seeds

Strewn across a slate table 

I am earth stones of numerous sizes and origins

Collected in willow wood incense ladles

Or strung across faded tapestries

I am filtered moonlight speckling

Dew kissed sage leaves

Tucked away in rickety window boxes

Ivy tendrils weaving in between

Half-hung weather worn shutters

Who have tasted more sweet rain

Than all the aspens in the grove

I am reminiscence 

Painting the days like water-colors 

A culture past like the last year's dawn

I am rose offerings wrapped in the roots of elder trees

Salt circles and hung bouquets

Drying in the ancient winds of a forgotten mother

A mother who still prunes the stubborn thorns of her children

Whose tears never cease and slowly 

Run thicker with poison

I am the final battalion

Whose knife is of tarot cards 

And shield of mortar and pestle

I am my mother's child

I am

One of the last.

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Comments (1)

bowie4eva
<p style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;<u>I Am</u></p><p style="text-align: center;">I am herbal remedies smoldering in a cast-iron cauldron</p><p style="text-align: center;">Late on an Autumn night</p><p style="text-align: center;">Mulling spices and salted pumkin seeds</p><p style="text-align: center;">Strewn across a slate stone table&nbsp;</p><p style="text-align: center;">I am earth stones of numerous shapes and origins</p><p style="text-align: center;">Collected in willow wood incence ladles</p><p style="text-align: center;">Or strung across faded tapestries</p><p style="text-align: center;">I am filtered moonlight speckling&nbsp;</p><p style="text-align: center;">Dew kissed sage leaves&nbsp;</p><p style="text-align: center;">Tucked away in rickety window boxes</p><p style="text-align: center;">Ivy tendrils weaving in between&nbsp;</p><p style="text-align: center;">Half-hung weather-worn shutters</p><p style="text-align: center;">Who have tasted more sweet rains</p><p style="text-align: center;">Than all the aspens in the grove</p><p style="text-align: center;">I am reminiscence</p><p style="text-align: center;">Painting the days like water-colors</p><p style="text-align: center;">A culture past like last year&#39;s dawn</p><p style="text-align: center;">I am rose offerings wrapped in the roots of elder trees</p><p style="text-align: center;">Salt circles and hung bouquets&nbsp;</p><p style="text-align: center;">Drying in the ancient winds of a forgotten mother</p><p style="text-align: center;">A mother who still prunes the stubborn thorns of her children&nbsp;</p><p style="text-align: center;">Whose tears never cease and slowly</p><p style="text-align: center;">Run thicker with poison</p><p style="text-align: center;">I am the final battalion&nbsp;</p><p style="text-align: center;">Whose knife is of tarot cards</p><p style="text-align: center;">And shield of mortar and pestle</p><p style="text-align: center;">I am my mother&#39;s child</p><p style="text-align: center;">I am</p><p style="text-align: center;">One of the last.</p>

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