Witchling
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Once there was a witchling
born to a family of lapsed Druids.
They lost their religion
coming across the sea
to settle stolen land on Turtle Island.
She could feel the song in the earth
and taste possibilities in the air.
She talked to trees and rocks,
animals and insects,
even when the world labeled her strange.
Tho she tried to mask herself
in respectability—
with a preppy wardrobe
and a strong adherence
to academic rules.
The magic and mayhem
of stories fed and sustained her;
mythic tricksters,
clever heroines,
gods and monsters,
talking beasts,
fey folk,
cursed objects and blessed amulets.
She grew up knowing what to do
when faced with the supernatural
and the mundane;
stories were maps
for how to navigate reality.
She left gifts for the fairies,
received messages in dreams,
and traced the future in the dregs
at the bottom of her teacup.
She discovered true friends
enjoyed her strangeness.
She learned the power
and enchantment
of words,
the satisfaction of building
and creating
art and spellcraft
with her hands,
and the seductive sensuality of dance.
She had swains and lovers
and one singularly wretched relationship—
a villain who fooled her
with his sensitive feelings,
and left her pregnant.
She tasted passion,
Intimacy,
Betrayal,
Love
and mind-fuckery.In self-protection,
she removed herself
to the wild wood,
becoming the lone enchantress,
living in a tumble down cottage,
raising her son.
She is emerging from the forest now.
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