***
the movers
and shapers
of the kingdom
must be
the young:
the witches
fresh out of school
so excited to taste a new food,
the ones
eager to share everything they know
like they know anything at all,
the ones
on the lookout
for a new student
to treat better
than anyone
and make into
clever ol’ witches too,
the ones
determined
to build the world
into a perfect place,
thinking
it’s already pretty close–
no, no,
any immortal demon would disagree,
I shape worlds
better than the kids
I burn teeming realms down
better than some tiny teen,
there are no young demons,
who do you think
causes all the chaos?
And I,
the aged witch,
would laugh
and ask:
since the dawn of creation,
when have the gods gone to war?
Not recently,
certainly.
Sure, they fought when they were young and
full of hot blood,
when their powers
were feeling out
the crevices of the universe,
taking what they could
like rats
who’ve never shivered in winter
or tasted poison
or gnawed a foot off
to escape a trap–
no,
it’s the young rats
that invade
holy places,
it’s the younguns
that force the hand
of the priest
to get repairs done,
and it’s the old ones
who remember the numerous gaps
in the apse
that no longer exist
and worry
too much
about losing the holes
still there,
the ones
they know
they can sneak through
to nibble some crumbs
from the feast.
Meanwhile
the young are like,
fight
fight
fight
the priests never
invited
us rats
to the feast
so let’s
take it.
And that’s how they shape
the kingdom,
by brazen belief
that they deserve to.
That’s what the strings of fate
set them up for,
a bold gunning after
what they want
before timid rationale takes over.
So, what does this mean
for an old witch like me?
Probably nothing, really.
Just that my time
to shape the universe
has passed
like a fraying sweater.
Just that the strings of fate
knitted me into existence
for something
and watched real close
to make sure it happened
then once I got old
they left me
hung up forgotten somewhere
for the moths.
It just means that
if my prime
really has passed
at least I no longer have to do its bidding
and if I’m just some old rat
clinging to some old holes in a church,
at least
I know those holes
better than anyone.
And if
the fates
forgot about me,
they’ll never see my moth-ridden mind coming
or think they’ll need
to stop me.
***
get my book at this link
Also, happy Thanksgiving week in the U.S.! As a result of the holiday, this will probably be the only post I make this week.
Jordyn Saelor 