My ancestor’s knowledge

Has been lost in the spiral of time,

Swallowed in the brutality

Of the witch hunt.

Yet the spirits are wise,

Dropping clues under the trees,

Engraving spells in the stones,

Handing secrets to the waters.

I sit on the river’s shore,

Confiding my heartaches to the elements,

Calling for the forgotten wisdom

To bring the healer back to life.

Skin meets the river,

Body listens, remembers, knows.

My presence was here before,

My blood sleeps in these wild waters.

By the river

Where my ancestors sat,

I find the truth

Of the witches’ roots, still feeding me.

By the river

Where my grand-grand-grand mothers

Casted spells,

I recall the mysteries of this land.