Story of a Witch: Part Five

Once upon a time,

there was a witch.

A witch, who didn’t know,

she was a witch.

This witch came 

from a long long line of witches who came to learn

how to no longer

forget themselves.

One day,

the witch was no-witch, no-where,

with just the sparkle of a giggle

to her name.

And the next, she was,

She-Who-Has-Been-Waited-For.

Like the great unspeakable, 

consuming and ripping, 

shattering and digging,

Power unbound,

thundered and pulsed,

twinkled and twisted,

in and through her

witch’s body. 

And our witch 

who had

forgotten and flinched 

and tiptoed and whispered 

and sneaked quietly out the back

to where her deer marked the path, 

Finally,

built her feet as foothills and

braided her fingers into prairie grass 

and stood silent and electric. 

Her death-bringer smirked and

her palms sharply pulsed.

Here. 

Now the witch watches and waits,

ready for.