bad witch 

i don't know why i wanted 
to be a good witch. i stayed away
from curses. believed only in 
wards & binding spells. knots tied
around make-shift tongues.
jars in the freezer. it is so strange 
that i have & (sometimes) continue to strive
for something so nebulous as being "good."
i know lots of people that are supposedly "good"
who buy murder objects & ignore 
people burned in their homes. i wish i could say
that it was some deep realization about 
systems of injustice but really i think 
it was that apartment 
that changed things for me. we had
a building super who would play music
so loud it thrummed the walls. one deep night,
i walked over to his door & knocked.
i asked in a soft voice, "could you
please turn your music down? i have
to work early in the morning." he laughed
a wild grin. shut the door without saying anything. 
the music continued. i don't even think 
he was a bad person. i made a curse that night.
my hands shook. why was i so afraid? 
a jar with hot peppers & vinegar. that man's name
floating like a sick shrimp. i don't know
if it did anything but i felt briefly better.
my ghost, no longer a jungle he could kick. 
i take that into the world whenever i can. 
sometimes i am naive & i feel that urge to be "good"
creeping back up. instead i try to replace it
with words that mean something to me.
i want to be a just witch & a caring witch 
& sometimes when the moon is dark,
a vengeful witch. i do not bother to curse 
the empire. instead, i sew. i feed. i do whatever 
i can to make it weaker. i know it is not enough.
when i moved out of that apartment, i left the jar there.
i try to leave jars whenever i depart in one way
or another. i like to imagine the super finding it
when he inevitably had to show those rooms
to new tenants. i imagine him seeing his name 
though that is impossible because the name 
had long blurred from time & bite.