I reached into the witch’s hood
and removed a glass that I stood
on a table. A second witch
poured white wine. Each witch had a niche.
“I reached into her hood,” I said,
pointing at the first witch in red.
“You, in green, filled the glass with wine.
I’m thinking the colors are fine.
Christmas witches. I get the look.
And it’s a pun too though that took
me a moment longer to get.
I don’t want to make you upset
but I’m stuck on this metaphor
of reaching in a hood-thing for
a cup-thing. These are grail echoes
and I’m guessing everyone knows
what both the grail and the wine mean.”
The witch in green played out a scene,
using both hands to hold her glass,
raise it, take a sip and then pass
her glass to me. I took a sip.
I said, “If we make the whole trip
around this metaphor, this schtick,
it’s ‘the body and the blood’ trick.
The ‘body’ part means things get wild.”
“We’re witches,” she said. And she smiled.
“Metaphors,” she said, “free the id.”
“I get it,” I said. And I did.
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Christmas Witches: A Present Of The Past
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