Witching Hour

She wasn’t a witch.
She wasn’t into all that stuff.
She wasn’t into magic and potions and spells and chanting
and dancing naked in the moonlight.

Well, maybe a little naked moonlight dancing.
But she wasn’t a witch.

“You’re a witch,”
the witch told her,
and she denied it.

She basked in sunlight, she breathed in rain.
She bathed in moonlight, she breathed out pain.

“You’re a witch,”
the witch told her,
and she denied it.

She did, she insisted.
She denied it.

Soft and gentle, she said she was.
Not a witch.
Brave and good, she said she was.
Not a witch.

“You’re a witch,”
the witch told her,
and laughed at her.
Laughed with her.

“Soft and gentle, you are.
A witch.
Brave and good, you are.
A witch.”

She loved the dark as she loved the light.
She loved the moon as she loved the sun.
She loved the trees blooming buds in spring
as she loved the trees swaying bare in winter.

And finally,
she laughed with the witch.
“I’m a Witch.”
And didn’t deny it.
Didn’t deny her Self.


Day 12 of NaPoWriMo!

Notes: This poem isn’t the greatest, but I’m going to blame it on the cold that has seized control of my brain. I had started writing this poem a few days ago, jotting down some thoughts. Then this morning, a friend tagged me in a post where someone had shared this image, and it seemed appropriate to finish up that poem and post it today…. ๐Ÿ˜‰

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One thought on “Witching Hour

  1. Nature shan’t be denied. Even when we try to giggle lies into her smug face (yes, Nature can be quite smug), she’s patient, she waits… until we see… until we feel our own truth… until we love our Selves because of our truths.

    I love this… very much.

    Liked by 1 person

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