Witch-woman,
tall, slender,
Circe at her loom
or murderous Medea,
Joan at her tree,
listening to voices
in the rustling of the leaves,
like the rustling of the flames
which ignited
her deciduous life . . .
witch-woman,
burning goddess,
every woman bears
within her soul
the figure of the witch,
the face of the witch,
beautiful & hideous,
hidden as the lips
of her cunt,
open as her open eyes,
which see the fire
without screaming
as she & the tree, her mother,
are joined again,
seared,
united,
married as a forest
marries air,
only by its burning,
only by its rising
in Demeter's flaming hands,
only by its leaping
heavenward
in a single
green
flame.
Erica Jong
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/figure-of-the-witch/
