Her Kind

I have gone out, a possessed witch,

haunting the black air, braver at night;

dreaming evil, I have done my hitch

Over the plain houses, light by light:

lonely thing, twelve fingered, out of mind

A woman like that is not a woman quite

I have been her kind.

I have found the Warm caves in the woods

filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, closets, silks, innumerable goods;

fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:

whining, rearranging the disaligned.

A woman like that is misunderstood.

I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver.

waved my nude arms at villages going by

learning the last bright routes, survivor

where your flames still bite my thigh

and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.

A woman like that is not ashamed to die.