The Witch of Endor
by William Miller
She told small fortunes
bought with bread,
oil for three lamps.
But once she had
a famous client,
the King himself, weak,
wounded, at death’s door
and hers. He asked
for a specter, the ghost
of a prophet, to learn
his fate on the battlefield,
good or final ill.
He promised anything,
everything, if she
raised the truth before
his eyes. She asked
for nothing, plead
her quiet case, a friend
to wronged women,
tenants locked out
of their barns.
But she obeyed, a good
subject, said the prophet’s
name three times,
threw salt in the fire.
And when it was done,
he lay down broken
as a beggar, lost as a sheep
in the wilderness.
She offered bread, wine,
the only blanket. After all,
they served the same
master, the desert King
who conjured all things
into life, death,
prophets too.