That night I fell ill with a fever
So she took the pestle and the mortar
And tore the herbs asunder
What spell did I fall under
As I began to feel better
All thanks to my sister.
Clouds of ash filled the air
From a volcano not far, but near
My one eye became swollen with tears
Warm hands on my face sees the other
A soft-spoken chant, I can hear
I feel it taking all my fears
My one eye opens once more
To the sight of my dear grandmother.
The others began to murmur
Of a woman with flowing raven hair
That streaked of wisdom and nurture
Standing outside the window, draped in nature
She smiled at her boy, her seventh, a kindergartner
Such fear in their words, "She's a witch," they utter
And I realized they spoke of my mother.
And in that moment, I was proud and honored
To be the brother, the grandson... the son of a witch.