my aunt was a wiccan

with a sheep farm

i was the shepherd, leading the flock

until my small body couldn’t run anymore.

she knit me black wool socks

that i never wore. they made me itch.

i just put them on my shelf and stared at them

feeling bad that somebody put all that time and effort into a kind deed for me

for nothing.

she died on christmas eve of an aneurysm.

i didn’t cry

i just sat at the table

and wondered where she went