Witches ain’t bitches just women that glow
around maypoles in red robes 

feast of flowers in their hair.
If you think the pole isn’t phallic

you’re not witnessing the flutter
of ribbons flutter of thighs sunrise

to sunset swallowing psychedelics 
thumping drums fertile goddess hugging

bosomy hugs women looking long
into lake water for their lineage.

We are made from bone, bone from calcium,
calcium from water. Blessed be you

little charms made of shells. Blessings
from sea to sea and every river mouth.

Blessings on Beltane. Everything virgin.
Nothing virgin. Blessings on this day of fire.

[John Davis is the author of Gigs, Guard the Dead and The Reservist. His work has appeared in DMQ Review, Iron Horse Literary Review and Terrain.org. He lives on an island in the Salish Sea and performs in several bands.]