Burn Me a Witch

Call me bramble-blooded,

thorns and hexes, I

who walks too deep in the dark.

I have been firewood before -

stacked high, smoke-tongued,

a lesson with a name like mine.

Sharpening my tongue to a dagger,

blackening my teeth in refute.

I know the weight of the word -

tightening in the throat, smouldering

the mouth like ash.

Come then, split me like kindling,

peel me apart for proof -

there's a mulberry spot where the devil

grazed my skin. I am but a cushion;

can your needle find it?

Prick prick prick.

Do not think I am afraid

to sink, or swim, or float, for I

will blaze only to give light to those I choose.

They will rise from my embers,

red-palmed, iron-eyes, my very name stitched

in their lullabies, their curses, their blood.

Come then, men of the Kirk,

of the crown, of the law;

strike your match.

I have been burned before.

David McGraw