My grannies were witches
And my dad sprinted from one matriarchy
To another.
It's no wonder I turned out like this
When where I come from
Women rule.
Winnie the white cursed her husband
Her jailer
With urine from the chamber post
As he sat in a drunken stupor
"It's raining!" He exclaimed.
She was turned away
From a women's refuge
Who thought a violent husband
Was a home.
He died abruptly
And when she was asked
How long he'd been dead
She said "Not long enough".
All folk said
She was canny
A witch.
My granny Marion
Left her very first baby
And sold her breastmilk
As if to say, the only one
Who profits off my commoditization
Is me.
She left this reality eventually.
Yelled incantations and curses down the phone
Saw and heard things
That nobody else could see
Thought medicine was poison
A belief which ended her life.
Why am I still so scared?
They say blood never lies
And I smile Winnie's smile
My spells and my blessings for
Mary, Marian, Marion
My spite and my rejection
Of what is expected of me
My life has become a conundrum
Of
Which
Witch?
- Jenny Wren
