Just because your roots have been
pulled from the ground
washed clean and rubbed smooth
doesn’t mean they aren’t still green.
Freedom’s just another
way of saying you made someone mad
you’re the witch,
made to live in the forest’s edge,
out of sight but close enough to find
when they need your frightening knowledge.
Grow your hair, grow wings,
draw a pale map in the night
and follow it until you can’t
go a furlong farther
and there, in the air, create a space
where rainbows embrace
like snakes on a staff of restoration.