They come to us in quiet ways
those born with starlight in their palms
and eyes too old for the cradle, some marked by dreams
others by scars that shimmer in the moonlight
they do not know yet what they are
they flinch when they pass mirrors
the world calls them sensitive, broken and strange
but we witches call them ours, we teach them the old chants
summon and banish and heal and unmake
we show them how to light a candle with their grief
how to curse without a single word
we do not ask them to serve, only to see, only to remember
for they are gifted with magic and spells
the world has tried to forget them, but we never forget our own
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 