The Witch’s Bargain
She didn’t want your name. She wanted the heat
in your chest, the one that burns when you lie to
your wife about where you were and why your
hands are shaking.
Meet her at the crossroads where the road to the
church meets the road to the cemetery.
Don’t bring flowers.
Bring the debt you’re hiding in your pocket.
She’s older than the dirt, you know this. Her skin
is the color of wet ash, her eyes are the green
of pond water where things go to die.
She’ll ask for a kiss. Don’t pull away. Let her taste
the whiskey and the guilt. Let her feel your heart
hammering like a trapped bird.
In exchange, she’ll take the memory of the child
you left behind in that field last August. You won’t dream
of him anymore. You won’t wake up
screaming his name into the dark.
But you’ll always be cold. A deep, bone-deep chill
that no fire can touch. You’ll sit by your husband’s side
and smile at his jokes and wonder why
your teeth chatter in the summer heat.
She’ll whisper, It is done. And you’ll walk home
through the silent street, leaving your soul in the dirt
between the graves, lighter than a feather,
empty as a bell.
Don’t look back. If you look back, she’ll be standing
there, smiling with too many teeth,
waiting for the next payment.
Jane Echioda is a folktale writer and writes from her home in suburban Maryland. Her work has appeared in Frogpond, Sho, and tinywords. The Witch's Bargain was written as a tribute to the artwork: The Witch (c. 1500) by Albrecht Dürer.
