The Witch Turns / Beckoned by Alarie Tennille

The Witch Turns
 
Go back!  You think I can’t hear
you swishing through the grass
for the fierce wind – the very wind

I conjured from screams of women
left broken by your kind. Sarah
Good, Rebecca Nurse, Susannah Martin –

those poor innocents proved by death
they were not witches. Never
will I stand trial. Never.

Your stench stalks me like a shadow.
So be it. Even without trees or ravines
for cover, we’re secluded. I, too,

am counting on that. Closer, closer,
closer you come, never guessing
this very ground is under my spell.

Nothing can touch me here. Nothing.
You’ll learn soon enough.
I half turn, cast my one-eyed curse.

You smirk just like the others.
I say nothing, for your kind cannot hear.
One step closer – a shriek of wind

your last memory.





Beckoned                                                                                     
 
Don’t go, don’t go in the woods,
my parents repeated.
I knew that I would. 

Little Red Riding Hood comes
at bedtime. Hansel and Gretel chase
even my dreams away
from the beckoning darkness.

They warn of poisonous
snakes and mushrooms, hungry
bears, coyotes, werewolves.
I yearn to join the fairies, feed
the deer.

Don’t go, don’t go in the woods,
my parents repeated.
I knew that I would.

You’ll never find your way
home. You’ll miss your cats, books,
baby brother. You’ll be lost
forever, FOREVER.

Like that other little girl?
What girl? asks Mama.
The little girl at the edge
of the woods who motions to follow.

Don’t go, don’t go in the woods,
my parents repeated.
I knew that I would.

They call a realtor. Put up
a For Sale sign. You’ll have more
friends in town.

I’ll go to the woods tomorrow.

Alarie Tennille graduated from the University of Virginia in the first class admitting women. She serves on the Emeritus Board of The Writers Place in Kansas City. Since retiring, Alarie has been letting the moon lead her poems to darker places. Her newest collection is Waking on the Moon.  alariepoet.com