What’s Gone Will Not Come Back

Poetry

In a world bridged on the edge of sense,

where reality bent to a will and a way,

she knew best how to concoct spells

that could be shared or gifted or traded

like the best kind of wares for sale.

Sometimes she whispered nonsense

in the ears of bashful girls who sang

but rarely ever spoke beyond a word,

and she wished them siren’s calls

that would make them bewitching indeed.

It didn’t matter that she was a witch,

at least in the ways that mattered,

because the women were her customers

who knew the Old ways better than

even their husbands could ever believe.

It wasn’t often she received a request

from boys who were like their fathers

and didn’t think much of fairy rings

or the rites of gods dead long ago.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t willing

to try and break the molds they had known,