by Janine Phillips
As flames of judgment
licked my calves and shins
the crowd stood still.
Some wept, others grinned.
Some said a prayer
and clutched their chest.
Horrified, they wondered
if they’d be next?
Or if I had the power
to cast one last hex.
The fiery flames consumed me
devouring my legs, my womb.
It suckled at my breast,
and stole my words.
My life force gone,
leaving only my soul,
I watched the masses throughout the day
as they ebbed and flowed
You all went about your daily deeds,
you had butter to churn, and chickens to feed.
But as the rancid stench
of my burning hair
stung your eyes and
soiled your air,
you retreated.
No one pleaded.
The deed was done.
The witch was burned.
The Church had won.
Who shoveled my remains into the bin
to take me to the waters’ edge?
While foes and families slept and wept,
in the moonless night you scattered all that was left.
Of me.
Except for the bit that you held onto fast.
You cried in relief that I was free at last.
Then I was washed away in the waters’ wrath.
Now all that is left of me is a cup of ash.
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As flames of judgmentlickedmy calves and shinsthe crowd stood still.
Some wept, others
grinned.Some said a prayerand clutched their
chest.Horrified, they
wonderedif they’d be next?Or if I had the powerto cast one last
hex.The fiery flames
consumed medevouring my legs,
my womb.It suckled at my
breast,and stole my words.My life force gone,leaving only my
soul,I watched the masses
throughout the dayas they ebbed and
flowed.You all went about
your daily deeds,you had butter to
churn, and chickens to feed.But as the rancid
stenchof my burning hairstung your eyes andsoiled your air,you retreated.No one pleaded.The deed was done.The witch was burned.The Church had won. Who shoveled my
remains into the binto take me to the
waters’ edge?While foes and
families slept and wept,in the moonless
night you scattered all that was left.Of me.Except for the bit
that you held onto fast.You cried in relief
that I was free at last.Then I was washed
away in the waters’ wrath.Now all that is left
of me is a cup of ash.
Janina Grey 