Witch, Nun, Scholar

Issue OneIssuesPoetry

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By Eloise Faichney

 

i. Witch

 

Am I to spend my days

locked in the longing

of my namesake?

 

I am a ghost

of knife and bone,

summoning a spell to lure

my foreign lover to my sheets.

 

On my shores,

he will find my hunger

as pure as the magick ritual

I cast for him in the blood circle.

 

The allure of my body; void

my bloodline forever cursed,

if I cannot secure him

with my charms.

 

ii. Nun

 

I pace this small room

of stone, like a restless animal

stalking thoughts most treacherous.

 

The eyes of my Grandfather

watch me patiently from a gilded frame,

Pleading; what have you done, my progeny?

 

You betrayed your kindred

for a love born between your thighs—

that flesh that makes kittens out fierce men;

now your beauty must rot, unfulfilled.

 

iii. Scholar

 

I cradle the books that found me.

Tonight, I prop them on my knees

one by one; each offering up

a lesson I must timely absorb.

 

The rain speaks of days like these,

in dim light, with only my wit as guide.

No feat of voluptuousness;

of womanhood, shall aid me here.

 

I tiptoe down these halls,

a quiet predator in the shadows,

light feet, steel-trap cunning,

and wily defiance; I shall show them

what a woman of iron mind can do.

 

Image by Malte Baumann