My first-ever quintuple Golden Shovel poem, written from 5 vertical 16-word lines of Elizabeth Willis’s “The Witch” (lines emboldened in order).
Hour of Kitten Prayer
The hour when the black cat appears –when a
happiness glows on a green skin of a witch
of Salem, a witch of magic, a witch who may smile
an hour, who desires a kitten – is the hour to cry
entire buckets. Something real – hungry, out behind the
house, prowls beside that witch. She sharply
may turn. Is this what makes her throw a can at it?
Be not a stalker – make the night not
ruined as hers hinges on so delicate a sight
by moonlight. She is binding sticks to make a soup of fish!
Witch love will hold tight for a kitten by a
hair on her chin, slip a stirring feeling known
as touching hearts. It flows like a book of water, criminal
a word stretching into realms of heartache with dying
metal cat statues her common ailment, her glimpse of
cross bearing, a glove of prayer in her hand, quenching her kitten thirst.