In a dark wood
far far away
she stirs her cauldron
3 teaspoons of rain and shame
Cook with fire
History etched in her skin
salt from wounds that sing
the graceful spoke
great intentions wrote
and the drops of perfume
didn’t make it easier

Who is she
when the lines were drawn
before
before she woke
Come she cries
stir
wider
stir
gather
the East
North
South and West
and stir

120grams of liquid scars
Why did they think
they could
fit stories in jars

Sprinkle with 16 grams of voice
and stir

An ounce of …them
to name one
is to name a nation

Stir

In a place
as close as the jugular vein
She stirs the cauldron