
'In This Sad and Sodden Village': A Poem by Tricia Waller

IN THIS SAD AND SODDEN VILLAGE
Midway through this storm strangled night
and the hour smells just right.
For the masked and bitter biscuit moon
floats high in a fungal sky.
The filthy bible dog-eared and
smeared with blood and bile
lies open on the wicken work bench
and all around is the stringy stench
of death and deep despair for there
is little to give gratitude for
in this sad and sodden village
where forgotten souls dwell
on their pathway to hell.
But she of the ebony braid
be not afraid and so enters
In to care and share her potions,
her tinctures and her balms mixed
with love and charm; wormwood, ragwort,
wolfsbane and soapwort, lovage and borage
and bittercress but?
All is not well!
For they tell wicked
whispered tales
behind hands; stand in dark corners
like spies spreading their lies.
Call her wise-woman
when they mean witch.
Bitch with her incantations,
her rhymes and her spells,
her cat and her rat.
This is her turn – she must burn!
This bitch, this wicked, wicked witch!
Pile it high! Let her die!
Burn the witch!
But she has the heft and the might.
So on this bitter sweet night
she will stay and fight for her life.
Weave for them her spell of all spells.
Cleave and tear, swear and curse
and she kens who will come off the worst
in this sad and sodden village
where the now forgotten souls
finished their pathway to hell.
Tricia Waller has recently had poems published in Dreitch 5 Season 3. A story published in Flash Fiction North and a poem included in Margate Bookie's Reset Zine. Find her on Twitter: @TriciaJean44, and Instagram: lilyofaday.