I turned around to see
you who I left
behind unfairly
I taste hope and honesty
again in my mouth when
a memory of you flutters
teardrops against my eye
Nothing hurts anymore
except your heart
beating clenched against a
memory you no longer know
how to feel about.
Is it strange that I can still feel
the tightness of your throat,
the tremble of your hands, the
way I hurt you?
But I am still a witch, and my hands
are still filled with magic, and my tongue
is still filled with spells, and in a witch’s mouth
all spells are promises, or maybe
all promises are spells:
so I give you this gift:
You will heal, dear friend.
