Poetica Magazine

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.