Mama was a witch —
it ran in the family, but
her special powers
skipped over me.
When I was a child,
she gave me a doll —
for Halloween with
very sharp fingernails.
She included a curse
as a special surprise,
and told me what to do.
“When you need help
just squeeze her hands,
they’ll do the rest.”
I’ve pressed her talons
many times at night,
pleased to find them
dripping blood by dawn,
one for every silly boy
or foolish girl
who did me wrong.
But life is not so simple.
A curse can’t be abused,
and I spent it foolishly
on petty jealousies.
This night her button eyes
have turned my way.
I’m on my own.
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by Marge Simon
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