Poetica Magazine

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.


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