A Prevett

Two Witches

after Paige Lewis’s “You Can Take Off Your Sweater, I’ve Made Today Warm”

Come onto the porch
and chew this mugwort. Right now,

deep in the sweat glands of
the earth, two witches

have just moved in to a warm, muddy studio.
It has three chimneys and one clawfoot tub

big enough for the both of them
if they transform into Shiba puppies,

which of course they’re always happy to do.
One was never any good at potions:

she prefers broomstick racing, the thrill of wind
tugging tears from her eyes. One is the first trans witch in history, which

means she especially is aware of the mortals who want her
tied to the stake, strung up like some heavy, sad sail.

As a child, ages and ages ago, she researched every spell
looking for one that could turn boys into girls, not yet understanding

what that meant for her, who she would be.
No, I won’t tell you which witch is which.

We cannot visit them there, and yes, that is sad.
You’re right; they would love our wormwood quiche.

Yes, there were options above ground—damp swamps, forests
no light could penetrate. But in the earth there exists a freedom for them

that the surface, its lack of generosity, cannot afford.
But may this cheer you up:

Each time they open a box of their things,
all the items flutter out as if on bat

wings, do gentle, loving loops through the air,
then nest perfectly where they belong.

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A Prevett (they/them) is the author of the chapbook Still, No Grace (Madhouse Press, 2021). Their recent poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming from West Branch, Fugue, Denver Quarterly and other journals. They are pursuing an MFA in poetry from Georgia State University, where they edit the journal New South. You can find them online at aprevett.com or on Twitter under the handle @a_prevett.