Witch

My dreams involved a lot of weird magic last night. Maybe it’s something I read?

 

We return from

Our fight to find

A candle, burning bright and small

For the fallen, on our stairs.

A mockery left

By the witch,

To let us know

We’ve been infiltrated.

She’s made tea with our cups

And her leaves, left

Pieces of comic books as clues

To her motivations, switched out

My bed for a baby-changing table.

I’m livid.

But still I try

Contacting her through the tea leaves,

Like we used to do when we were

Friends – breathe in the steam,

Stare into the cup, and hope

For peace.