when I was still in braces and band-aids
and an A-cup bra,
bitten nails, awkward smile,
I was halfway through childhood’s door,
but they said I had something special,
and would I sit with them for a spell?
Seven women on a porch
surrounded my mama on a summer night;
the air was heavy as cobbler
with smoke and Shalimar -
they had come to save mama
from going off the deep end, her strange friends,
the women I would come to call
the Witches of Hope.
“Don’t make the mistake
of ever thinkin’ you have just one mind”
They collected pieces of mama-
took her tears and transformed them into laughter,
engaged her demons in conversation
then put them quietly to bed
with soothing songs and sweet apricot brandy.
I watched as they danced
across the old wooden porch, outshining the moon
with their brilliant womanhood,
and my heart was full, as full as a starry sky,
to witness a power I had never known -
some may not believe in magic,
some only see things in black and white,
but on that summer night
I saw my mama begin to believe
and I began
to hope...
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