a witch, on a stake, on fire
witches and bitches,
a witch or a bitch,
with a grave between the legs,
and mothers,
and daughters of daughters,
all witches and bitches,
hysterical
with uteruses where some died,
and others resurrected,
where the toughest of knights
came out
swollen with tears.
witches you were terrified of,
witches you disinherited,
hysterics that frightened you
until you grasped
that you are the daughter
of the witch
or the bitch
and you later on became
a bigger bitch than
you could hope.
and you no longer care
why our mothers
did not love us
as much as
they had wanted,
and you do not blame
the rest of them no more,
once you knew
we are in it together now.
once you knew
it could never happen
otherwise.
witch or bitch,
a slut
or even a whore
you, who almost believed
that they insult you,
-put your own head in the noose,
tie yourself to the stake,
light the first match
on fire
and then
walk out of the flames,
screaming
and kicking,
as you came and as you brought others here,
with eyes
and hands wide open,
with a shout
with a screech
that will pierce their brains
at last-.
Alexandra Epitheti is a poet from Greece. She is not very good at writing third person bios.
–Art by J. F. Chow — Artist Profile