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The Witch at No 66
With each skinning she gave
I grew larger
(milk, and pancakes, glistening sweets)
padding myself
from the inside out
I tried not to question
why smoothing scraps of wood, in his shed
was more important than noticing
A path out of the darkness came with a boy –
and a girl – cooked for 9 months, their father
(Milk, and pancakes, glistening sweets)
pressed to breadcrumbs under my bulk –
I raised them into wholeness,
glazing them with spittle
(milk, and pancakes, glistening sweets)
still getting bigger
I’d have bent over backwards for trying,
but I could hardly make it up the stairs.
I realised, too late
how they struggled for air,
under my weighty gaze.
In the long afternoons,
when the sun melts the road into stickiness
I hear other people’s children playing
daring each other to knock at my door.
Lisa D'Onofrio