The Old Grey Witch

Once upon a young green hill,
Lived an old grey witch,
Who talked far too much,
And cursed people,
For a morning greeting.

"Why is she evil Mama?",
I asked once,
"You see those men,
who walk in there?
She lures them with
a portion made from
the scent of her hair."

"Do you know why
they never come out?"
"Because she has them
for dinner Mama?"
"Dinner. Right.
That's what she does."

I watched the rusty house,
From my school window,
Wondering if she roasted them,
Or cooked them in a cauldron,
Filled with the scent of her hair.

Years passed, I bled and grew up,
My impatience heightened,
My senses intolerant,
The witch remained grey as ever,
Her home ate up rich young men.

My skirts grew shorter,
My mother weaker,
Her words more faint,
Till they followed her
Deep into her grave.

I was all alone,
My knowledge of little things,
Grew to be my only company,
The grey witch was grey as ever,
Her home ate up rich young men.

"Do not go up the hill!"
"Is it a deathwish?"
They shouted,
"Must be the death of her mom,"
They murmured,
Driving me to walk up,
The young green hill.

The oh-so-treacherous house
From a distance,
Seemed more pleasant
As I ascended and waded through,
Cheery flowers and eager snow.

I could hear her curses,
Through a tremendous clutter of stiles,
Men sang as she cursed,
Their voices more girdled than mine.

Her grey hair shone through spaces,
Her fragrance shifted the fence,
A step closer, a want deeper,
I longed to see through her defence.

The old grey witch,
The witch I knew,
Was an unfamiliar haze,
In my bare mind,
Here she was, her grey hair dazzling,
Young men yearning, her laughter breaking
Through the tremendous clutter of stiles.

I was home, I finally felt it,
My mother's words echoed,
"If you ever go up there,
You'll lose your little self,
Like the rich young men who never return."

I joined the orchestra,
Her grey hair dazzled,
Her grey hair swung gracefully,
As she cursed our melodies,
I had to sing, I had to love,
The scent of her hair
Overwhelming.

I like this place,
Lost and forgotten,
All mystery-drenched and whored,
I like her grey hair,
Her limitless curses,
My hands eternally stroke
Her despair.