witches

If they were still burning witches
we wouldn’t stand a chance
what with my curly black hair
and your demanding tongue
and the birthmark at the centre of my neck

They’d point at me and call me
meddlesome
call me a stubborn witch
and you another

We tread like black cats and
I have always foretold us
happy tomorrows

I think what have we done with our minds
and where has it got us

because some days we are still burning
at the stake

Amogha Lakshmi Halepuram Sridhar is a writer from India. She wrote for the Times of India as a student correspondent and her poetry has appeared in THIS. and Thistle Magazine. She is currently an art editor at The Missing Slate.

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