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.