The Birth of a Witch

I don’t know

who cursed me.

Some wrong I did

weaving its way

through my tapestry,

fraying the edges,

leaving weak spots,

deliberately,

perhaps,

in vengeance.

Or I am but the latest

in a long line of

a cursed family,

propagated

from the sprout

of an evil deed.

A generational curse,

epic in scale,

an arching canopy

of could haves,

of should haves,

and never wills,

and I didn’t fall far enough

to escape the branches

of the family tree.

I can’t uproot

the deep delving

of the past,

but maybe

I can mend and patch,

and plant sage

beside me,

here in the long shadows.

Befriend a familiar,

and learn spells

and cultivate

forgiveness.