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by Susan M. Gibb

Two witches planning the extreme
Halloween. With solemn care
as though the outcome were a trial or test
of our intentions,
we cull through recipes and choose
the best ingredients;
potency prevailing
over taste and so toss in
the eye of cat,
heart of lamb.

Sisters, we so loved and hid
each other’s warts and slice
them now,
add them to the vat
to seal the pact that one
will carry all alone.
A mix of magic potions
crushed to dust in golden dream
of mortar,

Choosing colors by their boldness
and their blend
by weight and number, though
white prevails
unlike our costumes for the
night — that night
where white
does not belong.
You shall wear the orange,
we decide, and I
shall wear the black.

Copyright © 2006 by Susan M. Gibb

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