CALLING ON THE WITCHES

As time travels to my older soul

I feel, in my mind’s palms, the hot coal

Dreams are like lighted coals

In an airy oven

Situated in lairs of lion-like vixens

Lairs whose entrance is made of the soils of thorns

II

Legs have to pierce in tears

Eyes need to see their own blood

Veins have to feel the pain of movement

Hands have to feel some muscle pulls

They have to feel the heat of the coals

They have to hold onto the live coals

Trusting their neighbours to work an escape

An escape out through the thorns

Or a caging for burning

III

Ye fathers of my fathers’ fathers!

Ye mothers of my mothers’ mothers!!

Ye uncles of my uncles’ uncles!!!

Ye aunts of my aunts’ aunties!!!!

Make way for the rude heat to calm

Hold tight my will to hold

Numb the pain of the thorns

IV

Oh ye witches of family’s witches’ witches

Ye wizards of family’s wizards’ wizards

Ye demons of family’s demonic demons

Get me to a safe land

For once

Without licking my blood to thirst for more

Without chewing my skin to hung for more

Without breaking my bones to crave for all

I am your blood after all

Yours to protect and not to cook

Let your pots cry for once

As the bird flies to light your worlds

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016