Veteran

I understand your Witch.

She stirs the cauldron:

bits of snails, sharp things
fill her brew.

I estimate her call: she feeds

your fear, she wants

your faint heart, craves it

living from your breast.

You seek her belly,

need her nipple, want

to turn into the Earth

of her, be guarded

as she lulls you, rocks you,

croons, and eats your soft heart.

Mary Bast, Revelations: Personal Poems by Cincinnati Poets, 1998