She’d no man; no kin, to speak of or too. Addressed this sorrow knitting for children, kindness expressed via needle and thread. Her solitude mocked, other yarns were spun. I went to see which were true.
I wanted to view a witch.
She sat, at her window, surrounded. A family of featureless children.
Shop store dummies, impeccably dressed, clutched, cradled to her chest, saggy teat offered to where a mouth should’ve been.
Dry of milk, she ripped at her nipple, twisting skin until fluid dripped. Bloody tears running, ruining a blank expression.
Her gaze met mine. Smiling, beckoning me inside.
I wanted to view a witch.
She sat, at her window, surrounded. A family of featureless children.
Shop store dummies, impeccably dressed, clutched, cradled to her chest, saggy teat offered to where a mouth should’ve been.
Dry of milk, she ripped at her nipple, twisting skin until fluid dripped. Bloody tears running, ruining a blank expression.
Her gaze met mine. Smiling, beckoning me inside.
