Poetry by Sarah Ziman : Witch Bottle

Witch Bottle

Shiver
in the chill rain,
while she stands motionless
and barefoot beneath the blackthorn,
black eyed.

Make haste.
Do not offend.
But make the sign and spit,
else she may put that eye on you.
Buy salt.

Take it.
Take iron nails.
Rowan. Your own nails too.
Drown them in a bottle of piss
and prayer.

Perhaps
if you do this,
burying it deeper
than a secret beneath your hearth,
she’ll pass.

Maybe,
you’ll be kept safe.
Your babe will grow and thrive.
Not turn his head from soured milk,
black eyed.