Poem: The Witch’s Wedding – by Gwen Murtha

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


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