The Sage
Is half-burned
There’s a tightness in her chest
A worry about the altar left under the trees.
Will they hear the question?
Will they care?
She walks under the sky through a clearing.
Feet to dirt
Hair to tangle
Skin becomes sticky with want
Eyes glow purple.
She arrives
At the end of the clearing is a couch
Brown leather
Ripped at every corner
Cushions stained in blood and rain.
The question was too broad
They won’t know how to respond
She sat on the couch
The leather buckled and spread with her body against it.
It grabbed at her legs
Soft skin became rough and sticky with blood and rain
Thighs dripped red.
Ask the question again.
The birds go silent and the trees turn their face away from the sun.
The question and every question move through her like a warm soup in the belly.
She becomes the leather
The blood
The rain
Skin forever sticky and ripped
Bound to lay in the clearing forever.
Letting other questions sit and express their appetites.
And they are answered because they always are.
And so was her’s
A prayer answered with a gift.
Happy Halloween Witches!
-Honey Colon