Letter to an Accused Witch
Letter to an accused witch
It is said that love transcends time. I pray that is true. For the words in this letter are woven with golden threads of compassion stitched into every line. Every full stop, a tender kiss upon your brow. Each comma, arms gently holding your broken and bruised body.
Though 300 years have passed and gone. You are not forgotten in my heart. Nor in the land of our shared birth. You are remembered as a grandmother, mother, and daughter. A woman, not a witch, that died with the dirty hands of a man wrapped tightly around your neck. A woman, not a witch, whose flesh was burnt through fevered fears of unholy pacts with the devil.
I see your spirit in the reflection of my eyes. Your blood is my blood. Like a red river running down my legs. I hear your cries when the wind screams over the North Sea. I have dug your grave a thousand times and buried your bones in fertile soil. A fragrant rose grows upon the earth to mark your resting place.
Are you dancing a reel my dearest? Singing an ancient lament to the stars? I can see you now, dressed in your Sunday best. Oh, bonnie lass weep not, for one day I will join you when my soul returns to heaven.
While I have breath in my body, you will be remembered.