Witch, Unsupervised

I draw sigils in coffee foam

behind the barista’s back. Salt

my doorstep — I haven't picked

a side, never do with my kids either.

I'm used to tripping over their tincture

of spit and starlight, equal parts.

Pluck truth pearls from tiny bottles. Swallow them

with sparks and let the moon water

my plants. Lay limbless for as long as it takes

to travel through time. Burn anything

that binds me—bras and baby monitors—,

sweep my shame under the bed

with a crow feather and a curse.

When nothing else works, I believe in magic

mushrooms and prosciutto pizza.

Prayers turned sandstorm

in an hourglass. Mane raised,

I dare the walls to love me the way  I am.

Between a lion and a locked door,

I'll always choose the lion.