Baby Witch Poem by Erica Jong
Baby Witch
Baby-witch,
my daughter,
my worship of the Goddess
alone
condemns you to the fire. . .
I blow upon
your least fingernail
& it flares cyclamen & rose.
I suck flames from your ears.
I touch your perfect nostrils
& they, too, flame gently
like that pale rose
called 'sweetheart'.
Your eyelids are tender purple
like the base of the flame
before it blues.
O child of fire,
O tiny devotee of the Goddess-
I wished for you
to be born a daughter
though we know
that daughters
cannot but be
born for burning
like the fatal
tree.
The movement of the leaves gives way to the wind. And in the least of these are born the dumb and blind.. iip
I wished for you to be born a daughter Daughters are always a gift of God and the poem reflects this feeling quite eloquently. But, the poet seems to be apprehensive about something evil or ominous in their life. Thanks.
A beautifully envisioned poem and quite touching too. Thanks for sharing.10 points.
O child of fire! ! ! Life is like that at times. Seeing and hearing of strange things. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
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4/19/2024 9:24:55 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Ummmmm I never once looked at my daughters and saw flames shooting out of their tiny cute ears... thought of them as little angels too... shows what I knew. What lay ahead of me in their teen years was astonishingly like the poem's description... too bad I didn't read this before having them... nahhh.... I'm happy thinking they were angels with a hiccup in their road ahead