Skip to main content

James reconsiders his wishes for witches by Kate Garrett

‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’ 
Exodus 22:18, KJV

Too little and too late you made it your pride
and point to pardon and debunk – renounced
your own sorcerer-spotter’s guide, called ‘hoax’ 
on accusers. Here in the comfort of England

you had no hand in Pendle, Belvoir – but how 
did shades of witches past feel when you changed 
your mind? Weak of will, you called the women. 
Most of them never served devils at all, knew their

power and their minds. The understandings missing 
from your own: the petal and thorn of mother’s love,
wisdom of crones, secrets of hushed apothecaries.
You forget the goddess Diana, like you, was a hunter.

Or perhaps this is an envy green as rowan leaves: 
her sure-footedness outpacing you, her desire to live
apart from men, her violent rejection of your lovers 
and brothers an act of sedition against your sex.

And what of women who held Christ in their hearts,
stirred potions, spun cures for goodness alone? They
were still something strange, creatures alien as foxes
in the dark. But once you came to know your sparkling

queen, welcomed – and sometimes lost – your daughters, 
a tender seed took root. Those pardoned must be grateful.
But your abandoned trail wound down to East Anglia, Salem
– and in your name, in God’s, they would not let them live.

---

Kate Garrett is a writer, editor, witch, mama, and folklore obsessive who sometimes haunts 465-year-old houses (as a heritage volunteer). Her work is widely published online and in print, and her next pamphlet A View from the Phantasmagoria will be published by Rhythm & Bones Press in October 2020. Born and raised in rural southern Ohio, Kate moved to England in 1999, where she still lives - currently halfway up a hillside in Sheffield. www.kategarrettwrites.co.uk 

Comments

  1. I generally check this kind of article and I found your article which is related to my interest. Genuinely, it is good and instructive information about witches Thanks for sharing an amazing article here.Book Of Spells Wicca Online

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Home by Jessa Forest

Home scratches at her shingles with tree branch fingers, pulls the air conditioning unit close to her grimy aluminum siding, and keens an empty song of mourning. We found her wandering the tornado snarled wild three months ago, starved and lonely. She doesn’t know how to take care of herself, you see? We fed her shards of dining room tables, kindling for the fireplace, and cast iron bathtubs clawed feet first. She was slow to recover so we gutted her plumbing, ripped out her nerves, and rewired the electricity. She let the water in every time it rained so we put a new roof on her and let her out for regular walks around the wolf pen. Let her mingle with the vultures, I said, let her feel useful and clean up the dead but no one wanted to listen. We found rot an mold in her corners, infused her insulation with antibiotics, and quarantined her for two weeks while she belched ladderback chairs, sofa cushions, wind chimes, and broken bookcases. She still has her bad days. After feeding time

Smoking and Swearing by Ian Manson

He’s stood outside, he’s on his break. He’s unsure whether to be smoking or swearing. He decides on both. Inhale. Fuuuck! Inhale. Fuuuck! A person, a visitor, or a patient. Heading to the hospital, sees his scrubs and scowls. “ It’s not very professional for a nurse to be smoking and swearing. ” But he doesn’t care. He’s already done his good deed for the morning and by midnight he’ll have done a dozen more. Yesterday was a paltry four. Tomorrow’s shift will be five or two or maybe eight, and another night of finishing late. Inhale. Fuuuck! He breathes a cloud of smoke. Watches it swirling, ascending, a spirit en-route to heaven. The person’s saintly sanctimony means nothing to him. Because he’s on his break. And he’s smoking, and he’s swearing. --- Originally from Scotland, Ian has lived and worked in Worcestershire for the last 11 years. He can normally be found performing his poetry and prose at events on the Worcester spoken word scene

The Pink Roll Top Bath is £995 and Says Sold. I Want to Know who has Bought it. by Wendy Allen

I grasp a piece of invisible text from Delta of Venus and bite so hard juice runs down to where I'm smooth inside. I am falling over the edge in anticipation of your mouth.  My lips curve like the rim of the roll top bath,  they smile, then say,  fuck me over the side. Open mouthed, soft inside, I swell, clitoral bulbs freeze framed in slow, they grow - lento.  I’m an Attenborough nature programme, my clitoris evolves from want.  Don’t stop - you make me summer. --- Wendy Allen has been published in Atrium, Re-Side, Brunel Writer and Northern Gravy. She has a Legitimate Snack coming out shorty from Broken Sleep and is about to start an MA in Creative Writing at Oxford Brookes.