The Witch’s Cradle

Soft warm linen, candlelight
The kind of kind, you find only once
A tapestry of new-found oddities
Memories from before the aughties

Gilded ears, frankincense, a murmur
of a heart beating fast, I write
Non-fiction as she lay here
A coven made ever so queer

Fierce as she is
“I am what I am”
As above, so below
From the storm, a rainbow