Gran used to sit in the dirt and feel the earth cascade from her fingers when she picked it up,
the bottom of her blue shawl gathering dust. Her grey hair was a river,
swimming down her neck and back.
The scars on her cheeks mark her past,
the witch's bridle which tore apart her tongue and made her mute.
Her scars looked as if she had cried acid tears.
She could never tell the stories of her past life as a witch,
her spells and charms dead, and her tongue mutilated.
the bottom of her blue shawl gathering dust. Her grey hair was a river,
swimming down her neck and back.
The scars on her cheeks mark her past,
the witch's bridle which tore apart her tongue and made her mute.
Her scars looked as if she had cried acid tears.
She could never tell the stories of her past life as a witch,
her spells and charms dead, and her tongue mutilated.
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