In Which the Witch Can Fly

With a borrowed cat and a broom of course

I remember my best dreams One of which was flying I was a witch, actually on Halloween with a borrowed Siamese cat whom I clutched in one hand The broom in the other

That part was real

The outraged cat shredding the skin on my arm And the broom from the closet with wisps of fuzz

In the dream, the broom, the cat, and I had a bird’s eye view of the city The warm lights below guiding the others to more treats than tricks The cold lights above closer but still so far away Us riding the middle space until dawn

When I woke up I was crying as the best dreams will make you do I put my bare feet to the floor and felt them sink into the carpet

It was the beginning of enmity between me and gravity.

Thanks Lucy Dan! Poets, see this prompt and join in —

Betsy Denson, 2021