Poem
Vicki Feaver
THE WITCHES
THE WITCHES
THE WITCHES
My sister’s screamsbrought Mummy running:
Did you push her?
They drove to the hospital
leaving me alone in the house.
I read a book by the window.
until I couldn’t see the words.
Too scared to turn on the light,
I watched ghostly white roses
disappear into the dark.
Once, in a fever, I’d dreamed
of the witches who lived in the loft
flying through the hatch.
Now they were crouched
behind the wings of my chair.
I tried not to breathe,
pretending to be dead
like the stone girl in the churchyard
or my sister if all the blood
rolled out of her leg.
If she died, people
would think I was sad.
The witches knew the truth –
smelling my wickedness
with huge hooked noses.
© 2012, Vicki Feaver
From: Like a Fiend Hid in a Cloud
Publisher: Jonathan Cape, London
From: Like a Fiend Hid in a Cloud
Publisher: Jonathan Cape, London
Vicki Feaver
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1943)
With just three collections in over 30 years, Vicki Feaver has nevertheless made a substantial mark on contemporary British poetry. Described by Matthew Sweeney as “domestic gothic”, her poems often explore the domestic, everyday world through the deeper world of myth, folklore, and terrifying transformation.
She is in the deepest sense a feminist poet, whose work has been concerned with uncov...
She is in the deepest sense a feminist poet, whose work has been concerned with uncov...
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Poems of Vicki Feaver
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THE WITCHES
My sister’s screamsbrought Mummy running:
Did you push her?
They drove to the hospital
leaving me alone in the house.
I read a book by the window.
until I couldn’t see the words.
Too scared to turn on the light,
I watched ghostly white roses
disappear into the dark.
Once, in a fever, I’d dreamed
of the witches who lived in the loft
flying through the hatch.
Now they were crouched
behind the wings of my chair.
I tried not to breathe,
pretending to be dead
like the stone girl in the churchyard
or my sister if all the blood
rolled out of her leg.
If she died, people
would think I was sad.
The witches knew the truth –
smelling my wickedness
with huge hooked noses.
From: Like a Fiend Hid in a Cloud
THE WITCHES
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