As I inspected the witch's cottage,
my gaze fell upon a curious looking
jar on a shelf.
It was full of eyes.

The witch noticed, or sensed,
my discomfort
and simply said,
"The eyes contain the soul."

For the rest of the day,
I sat on the creaking floor
and examined each eye.
They appeared to be glass,
but I knew that was likely a rouse.

So, with kitchen cleaning gloves
I fished the next eye out of
the Mason jar and lifted it up to my own.

It was about as large as the others,
but molten honey colored,
and the iris took up so much space,
while the pupil was very small.
I turned to the witch, the eye still in hand.

"What kind of eye is this?" I asked,
showing the eye to her.
She pried it out of my grasp and felt
all over it, her eyes closed.

"It belonged to an elephant." she said,
handing it back to me.
Upon seeing the look on my face, she clarified,
"It died of natural causes, and I never ask for them.
They find their way to me."

I considered this.
"What other kind of eyes do you have?"
The witch smiled, and led me into another room,
full of jars on shelves.
This time they were organized, labeled with
the name of the creature.

Mouth open in awe,
I looked around the room in wonder.
The eyes ranged from human,
to elephant, to squid.
There were so many different sizes
and colors.
The labels told me the creature,
and some of them I had never heard of.

"Do they really hold the soul?"
The witch nodded.

"Each of these eyes belonged to a different living being,
who is now gone.
Their eyes, or souls, rather
find their way to me.
I keep them safe until the soul is ready
to be used in a vessel again."

I frowned.
"So, one day, all these will be gone?"
She nodded again.

"And a new set will take its place."
The witch patted the top of my head
with her weathered hand.
"Someday, you'll be the one to watch over
the souls.
It'll be up to you
to keep them away from harm."

Carefully, I put the elephant's eye
in the jar and ******* the lid closed.

Now I wait for my turn
to keep the souls safe.

One day at a food shop,
I met a man selling cats,
For the money, he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some bats.

"Got any bats?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No bats here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.

"We've got some lovely cakes,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some snakes."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.

The man seemed exceptionally brainy,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call zany,
The great disdain he noticeably oozed.

Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit beautiful.
Still, he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty dutiful.

So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the food shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you, I believe."

"Cats, bats, you shall find.
Cakes, snakes, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to New York Market.

So to New York Market, I decided to go,
In search of the bats, I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.

There were stalls selling apples,
Strawberry in many shades.
There were even stalls selling apples
People were scattered from many trades

I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather beautiful
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all dutiful.

Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some bats!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some cakes and cats.

"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the bats she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.
As I walked away I heard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?

I dated a witch-
her magic made me wish it
had never ended

6:34 PM
13/8/19

Tiny Fireflies fly by
This dark night
Catch one in excite

Make a single wish
On fireflies
Let it go this night

A full witches moon
Lights up Sky
Making wishes true

Making small dreams
A reality
To make them happy

honey,
we do not
burn down
with the fire —
we become it.

Moonlight
Gardening
Playing punk music
In our
Tiny backyard
Kale brushing
Pale bare calves
Soft earth
Between toes
Cucumbers plucked
From delicate stems
Eating the fruits
Of long hours
In the dry sun
On a dew damp
Trampoline
On a cool full moon