I have a buried romanticized secret —
a notion in which I came from a long line
of radiant, regal witches who loved to cook.
I have a buried romanticized secret —
a notion in which these witches expel
that stagnant water that stained my soul.
But what of my ancestors? Were they
simple farmers who drank copiously
and scraped for a living, heavy minds,
anchored by chores?
And what they did say around pots with
mint tea, behind needlepoint, to keep their
souls alive? Were they guardians of a way?
Were they terribly oppressed?
I have this hopeful, wild feeling that —
their gatherings were contrary and subversive,
in disobedient glory, by hot fires.
Helen has a fine arts degree from St. Michael's College, Vermont and after the birth of her children, left a successful career in marketing to write and paint. She has been published in literary magazines and is currently working on a book of poetry about healing from a ski accident. When she is not busy developing her craft, she teaches yoga and ayurvedic cooking classes.