They burned a witch on holy day;
potions found under the awnings of her house,
with poppets and poesies,
pins and pinches.
They cheered the flames blackening her calves
and watched fire burst the confines of her dress,
displaying to them what they did not see;
her truer sin.
For as she screamed at the stake,
molten desire pooled beneath her
heretic haunches
and hissed on the
baked wood.
• • • • •
Written for Day 4 of National Poetry Writing Month/#NaPoWriMo.
Gosh, so many things your words evoke, the sound of her voice, the smell of burning wood, the anger & retribution, the satisfaction of the gatherers, her form.
Wonderful.
Pea ~x~
Thank you! I’m so glad people like this – particular poets! Seems I’m getting back into the flow of poetry…
That is so good. And the photo is so perfect!
Thank you! I actually found a better picture, but I can’t be bothered to change it now. I’m glad this one is working for you.