witch daughter

tired green. bleeding yellow. why do you drape your clothes around your body that way? lips are pale and swollen as if the colour has been bitten out. a peach bobbing in skim milk. split ends snake across your skin. your thick flannel shirt hangs out. witch daughter; you wait for someone to notice. everyone notices. your biggest secret is your crooked bottom row of teeth. stop making me feel this way. witch daughter, born on the wooden table your grandfather made. your legs are small, delicate, isolated posts. everything winds around them. ivy. searching hands, cold. over-sized garments, warm breath. you look up at your mother. you lie too close to the fire, the heat bubbling the skim on your shoulder. you need an answer. you look up at your mother, in the tree. she is dead, and the branches pierce her limbs. come down. how can you coax her lifeless body down? you are the daughter of the witch. you are also the daughter of the lumberjack. you possess no real power. except power over me.