I am, I was
I have been here before, you see
Not just once, but many times
My shaman-therapist handed me the knife
Played the trance drums
And unhesitating, careless
I sliced through the veils
Separating life from lives
At least twice I was killed for being a
witch
Once, it was true
The other time, it wasn't
Both times, I died with regrets
And the taste of fear in my mouth
In more recent years, I was a
schoolteacher
Happy only with children because
Every adult woman was my mother
And every adult man
Terrified me
Long ago, when years were counted by the
ruler's ascension
I worshipped Ishtar
Loved and pitied the high priestess
Because although beautiful beyond measure
She seemed so lonely
In a single overwhelming
Glimpse
I saw dozens of other lives
All so very ordinary
So plain
I often died in childbirth
And more frequently did not
I've been farmers, sailors, soldiers, landless refugees
I died young, in middle years, and elderly
I've been men and women through the ages
Sometimes I had love and family; other times didn't
Once, I think I knew how to paint
Another life, I composed music on a piano that was not mine
I believe this is the first time I've been a writer
Nowhere in there do I recall being famous or noble-born
The veil remains torn
The memories can't be unremembered
The lives hang out there
I do not know what to do with them
Somewhere, my shaman-therapist
(who used to be the priestess of Ishtar)
Is laughing at me and my foolishness
Albeit kindly
Three Witches
Three witches walked out of the mist
Coming to visit the zendo
The witch
The not-witch
And the reborn witch
The not-witch
Led the way
For she had been there before
She lit the candle
And settled in to meditate
The witch
Played with the brushes, bowls and bells
Making them sing familiar tunes
She spoke with the caretaker
And committed random acts of Reiki
The reborn witch
Bowed to the cushion and the wall
Said hello to the Buddha
Later, she visited the pond
And got her feet muddy
Three witches left the zendo
Returning to the mist
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