No one tells you how sister witches burn as they wrap their fingers  into your hair sucking you under to their tomb of water and broken shells.

No one tells you how sister witches burn, their words, spears and snakes impaling with poison the last plum on your kindness tree.

No one tells you  how sister witches burn the last wood pile, the final sanctuary, the gentle rock face with tufted grass where the birds of your joy nested in safety.

No one tells you  how sister witches burn their name into your ribs as they try scratching  their way into your last home.

No one tells you how sister witches burn the fields, the flowers, the home where you once rested  with  bright smiles and warm hands.

No one tells you how sister witches burn in vermilion  raging to the sky  swathed in crimson  as you watch with tears on your cheeks as their skiff sinks and you’re left alone missing them and relieved.