My magick incantation
Is unfaded and unshaded.
When the earth knows deterioration
I feel a responsibility, a reaction,
A habit forming,
A sorcery alluring.
I feel a voice, concerning, calling.
I’ll conjure my knowledge,
Nestled safely on broomstick,
And take hitch,
Pitch my best, paint the peeling patches,
Seek solutions to problems,
And pour the answers in the cauldron.
The ways to heal the earth are finding me.
My voice reverberates
Through spoken spells.
I can yell!
I can tell the stories,
While my sisters lived mute.
And knew the inside of a casket too early,
Too often misunderstood.
Punished for what they cast.
And simply because of
The timing of my birth,
I’m worth more than my kin,
Of years before.
I won’t be hung for writing this,
I won’t have to prepare my lips
For death’s kiss,
Even if I was a witch.