content warning: implied violence, trauma
My mother
was born
on All Hallows’ Eve
in a hospital with cauldrons
of potions
beside the delivery table
and doctors
dressed
up as butchers.
I flew into the world
six days early
with a birthmark
branded
on my backside,
evidence of magical
spells cast
in a past life.
The night she lays
my future on the table,
I confess
my sidekick is a ghost
who haunts
my dreams,
delivers dark messages
and sinister warnings.
It’s true,
this is too much voodoo
for a healer
when she cries,
you must protect
yourself. I ignore her pleas
and my spirit
comes alive
when I dance
with the devil
on the desk
in my bedroom.
I join a coven,
write spells
and create
ingredients
with metaphors
and line breaks
to pack a punch
of love and tenderness.
We bring political issues
to the forefront
and cast
poems out with a click
to all parts of the web
to reach
the entire world.
My circle
softens me.
They wave
a wand
and shred
my heart open
like no other witches can.
Bianca Grace is a poet living in Australia. She is a reader for Sledgehammer Lit and Full House Lit. Her work has appeared in Anti-Heroin Chic, Selcouth Station, Capsule Stories, The Daily Drunk Mag, Postscript Magazine and elsewhere. Follow her on Twitter: @Biancagrace031
photo by cottonbro (via pexels)
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