In honor of Halloween, I offer this poem. It was inspired by two of my favorite poems by Neil Gaiman and is my first attempt at composing a sestina. Each verse tells the story of a different witch or witches.
All I ever did was
to give you a home.
You could have
told me if you found it cold.
He said he loved
you, so you let down your hair.
He had you then;
your love game him his power.
I was your
mother—in name if not in blood.
Tell me, little
one…what was wrong with my love?
Some
will say I am bereft of love
But
I will be mistress in my own home.
They
all will bow to my beauty and my power,
Despite
your snowy skin and ebon hair.
They’ll
say twas jealousy that turned my heart cold
And
made me ask the Huntsman for your blood.
No
other way I might regain His love.
My
shivering was not from fear, but cold.
I
feel the flames now; smell my burning hair.
I
have faith that, in death, I will find my way home
To
bow before His mercy and His power.
We toss into the
cauldron eyes and blood,
A tongue, a toe, a
lock of mottled hair.
The cauldron
boils; the fire warms our home.
How many more must
die to please your love?
Words give heat to
the breath of deeds too cold.
The
forest is completely in my power.
Even
the Lion with his tales of hope and love
Is
no match for the magic in my blood.
I
ride my mighty sledge back to my home,
And
feel the winter wind blow through my hair.
A
little girl with a puppy and braided hair
Does
not exactly make my blood run cold.
There
were four of us, strong in magic and blood.
She
robbed me of my sister. Of my love.
But
that was chance; she has no real power.
She’s
not a threat. Just a kid who wants to go home.
They think they
know us; Think us vile and cold.
They run from us
or cry out for our blood.
They hate us for
our magic…for our power.
