I knew I was queer when
and when I saw
and I had this crystalline moment of

There is no one moment,
because yes, I saw her hips grinding
blue and pink lights into dust
that September night
and I walked into class
to see a girl with a circus tent
lovingly inked between the valley of her shoulder blades
and I looked at my childhood best friend
like she was magic,
but there were endless
conjugated into this-will-end-soon
phrases of suspension,
moon phases of this-can’t-be-right.

But like tides I hungered toward
too many,
that man with melting eyes,
a girl who was more garden than anything,
and I knew I was queer when
I kissed them and him
and they both kissed me,
two midsummers in the midst of February and
I fell into a purple static haze
of one ecstatic swell after another
when she told me she loved me that first time –
just thinking of any of this I can’t

Laura Mayron

Girls who run with the wolves
aren’t here for boys to love

the moon sings every night,
pulls the ocean’s tides to shore
your heart belongs to every star
screams dance upon your lips

a princess should be build of
stars and suns and forever’s
your mother told you fairytales
but she didn’t tell you this:

when the sun sets and the wolves run
you will find that sometimes
the princess and the witch are one
and red riding hood will eat the wolf

there is fire in your blood
a forest building in your veins
don’t try to lose the moonlight
you were meant for this

between dawn and dusk
you were made of miracles
and you can run all you want
but in the light of the moon
the wolves will always call you back


The Figure of the Witch

April 9, 2019

burning goddess,
every woman bears
within her soul
the figure of the witch

Erica Jong



April 9, 2019

Poetry is not just relief; poetry is tension. Poetry is departure. Poetry is return. Poetry is memory.

Emily Jungmin Yoon, 

A Cruelty Special to Our Species

female anger

April 9, 2019

The phenomenon of female anger has often been turned against itself, the figure of the angry woman reframed as threat […] She conjures a lineage of threatening archetypes: the harpy and her talons, the witch and her spells, the medusa and her writhing locks. The notion that female anger is unnatural or destructive is learned young; children report perceiving displays of anger as more acceptable from boys than from girls.

Leslie Jamison

I Used to Insist I Didn’t Get Angry. Not Anymore.

The Witch is embedded in our minds as the figure of nightmares, coded as a metaphor, an association. She is one of us only in touch with the supernatural and in possession of otherworldly wisdom. As such, Witches have historically provided a perfect canvas for projection of human pettiness, fear of the unknown and the all-encompassing mystery that is woman. Along came film, extending a powerful outlet for visual re-enactment of our collective imagination, and viola  —  the Witch has form, shape, a broom, a cat, warts, a hut, crystal ball and whatnot. The figure is now embroidered in imagery, and her universal presence is as fiercely visual as it is elusive.

Sonja Baksa

Witch! Witch! She is a Witch! ?