The Witch

At night I watched her, our neighbor,

The Witch,

In hopes of glimpsing her black cauldron or

Secret stash of spiders.

.
Slopping from my bed, creeping out the back door

Into heavy night, I would spy through the

Slats in my fence,

Peering through the slithering vines to catch a glimpse of

Her hunched form in moonlight.

.
Only shadow-cloaked could she be seen,

Gliding among her silver flowers

Like some dark specter.

By day, I imagined her invisible,

Tiptoeing among us mortals to laugh at our

Simple foolishness.

.
As the moon changed, I imagined

She wept at our heartache,

Teardrops turning to

Diamonds on her withered cheeks.

I glimpsed only once her fabled witch’s face,

A moonbeam illuminating

Wrinkled skin and hook nose,

Surprisingly beautiful covered in moon dust.

Surely she realized how I stared through my fence

To observe her starlit dances,

How I used to watch her and wish

She wasn’t a witch.

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