The Witch’s Wedding
The witch’s fingers trembled, so instead she whispered.
Her soft breath carried the needle and thread through the unseen cloth
Stitching the dress together so it hugged her tightly.
A second skin it was, but invisible
Like the emperor’s suit, but real.
The dress was both weapon and shield
It held her body safe from the brilliant embers leaping from her roaring fireplace.
She was safe from slings and arrows
And from the man sitting to her father’s right
In the hall of the forest king.
But the imperceptible thread could unravel itself
And the last thing that man would see
As the thread snaked up his arm to reach his throat
Was her naked body. His imaginings made flesh.
From her father’s hall she heard the man call for her
Voice smooth, strong, and unsuspecting:
Was she dressed? Was she ready?
The wedding gown slipped off the corner of her bed to the floor
Just as she pulled the last stitch of her undetectable armor tight.
She was not dressed, but she was ready.
Copyright @2016 by Gwen Murtha