The Upper Room
Greg Draper
Mine is the witches chamber
I have magic potions
I have goblins trapped in little boxes
spirits in jars
fairies in tethers
skeletons in the closet
there is a barn hex on my door
and a holly branch tied above the window
I have done everything I can to keep him
away from me
and to draw him closer
to bind him and
to drive him away
I have consulted with the dead here at midnight
they whisper his name
when all hope has passed
and the moon is having her way
I have danced here with dark things
and little knives
that make little cuts
like the ones across my witch heart
I have hung dolls from the rafters
and fashioned gremlins from clay
he has made me old in my hatred
he has brought me low
he has drawn things from me
I can’t retrieve
I named a pig after him
and drove it off a cliff
but my milk is still sour
and my bed still shakes
and I still wake up feeling empty
and dead
with my widows eyes
and black medean hair
I couldn’t keep him
with my love spells
and silver bells
I couldn’t keep him
and now in this too cold room
I am shapeshifting
I have been a lamb
now I am a crow
calling out in the morning
the sorrows call
I am watching the ships depart
I am binding the wind into a knotted cord for him
I know his bones lie at the bottom of the sea
but I wait for him here
trafficking with demons
and regrets.
