"Bread and Snakes" by H. Coyne

The voodoo witch

Absorbs the static

On night-time radio.

She's young

Still like fruit flesh.

In the winter

She walks mutely

With the white queen.

The voodoo witch is

Afraid of many things:

A life ill lived.

Mancy of all kinds.

Water too deep.

She dwelled

In the sweet recess

Between blanched dawn

and serpentine nightfall

And all she had was hope magic

Which is no spell at all

She was part morning and flour

Part green evening light

So on the brimming hour

There he left

A plate of bread and snakes

On the rotting step.

And she perused

pictures of the dead

Seeing what they

meant to say

but never said.

Apologizing like an undertaker

shifting bodies to the table.

And whenever able

She coaxed the birds

But they never came

And never sang,

Distracted still

by the wrist of

something beautiful.