The neighbors say I am a witch
(and in good conscience
who can blame them?)

For all my flames and earthly aims-
all the better
to entertain them-

Though surely better “Witch”
than bitch and fail
the judgement made
to restrain them.

The neighbors say I am a witch
lest they allow
the truth to pain them:

That dancing skirts
are masks for hurts
and flames for those who set them.

And black smoke thick
to carry pricks
of roses past which wet them.

For thunder heads
above the dead
we drink in celebration

as Mother Nature
spills her tears
in years of skilled libation.

The neighbors say I am a witch
as rhymes and incense blind them,
sharp closing doors,
latched windows fore
their own Truths come to find them.

For no more Witch
than He or She
when kept from prying eyes.

The neighbors say I am a Witch
and my neighbors tell no lies.

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