I think of all the witches I could have
wished to be when I grew up and me
thinks 'tis the kitchen witch who is the
most magickal. I can picture her now,
grinding a selection of her homegrown
herbs in her molcajete whilst cauldron
bubbles aromatic on her old cast iron
wood cook stove. She turns and slices
and dices on a slab of stump that has
served her for years as a cutting board.
I see the knife she is using, obviously
handmade. The handle is rough cut, yet
smoothed by years of use. The blade
itself is curiously blackened which makes
me realize it's certainly pre-stainless steel.
Her old teapot begins to rock, announcing
its readiness. She pours the steaming
liquid over carefully selected herbs, adds
a tad of honey and quietly sends it to a
neighbor suffering from a migraine. I see
a little boy, Tom Sawyer-esque, if you will.
He stumbles in, laughing all the while,
and gives her a brush of a hug. I can see
him sniffing, trying to suss out a treat
about to come out of the oven. She points
to the wash basin, indicating action. Wiping
his hands on his dusty pants, he sits at the
table, ready and waiting . . . as am I . . .
all play and no work
never wanting to grow up
who i have to be
No comments:
Post a Comment