John W. Sexton (Ireland)

My Secret Witch
 
Her grey hair glitters under the moonlight
as she flies above the sea. Whales’ fisted heads
part the waves below her. Storms fester
on the tip of her tongue. She seeds the air
with her presence and men turn in their sleep.
She is the nightmare of every child.
Women fear her for they fear they’re her.
They’re right to think that way. The woman
who falls asleep beside you is part of her dream.
She dreams that she flies above the earth, made
from the dreams of every woman who sleeps.
Sometimes she awakens in a strange place.
A frying pan is in her hand, egg
and sausages sizzling in fat. A child
is screaming in its cot and her husband
is shouting for no reason. Then she’s
asleep again, storms festering on her tongue,
the nightmare of every child, every man’s
suspicion of who his wife might be.
 
I know she is there, see her in the shot
of grey of my lover’s hair. Await
the day when she stands before me in all
her magnificence, withers me with a single word,
and catching me by the ear
carries me high above the earth.
 
 
 
from the collection Vortex

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