I Am The Witch Of This Watershed

A weird river thing, a thing of the marshes am I.
A creature with small green shoots growing out of the gentle flesh behind the curl of my ear.
With weird-shaped dead branches growing through my cunt.

I am not like these people among whom I move.
I am not.

I can think through their problems, but I am not "of" them.
I can, hmmm, look. Over there. The sunlight sparkles on the river and the water laps against the trunks of trees. There are wood ducks and there were, a few hundred years ago, great swans.

A weird river thing am I.
The word of fairie claims me, calls to me, shows me myself all water-reeds among the waves of this river. This one. The one that flows so closely to the hall of power. This one.

A weird river thing, a thing of the marshes am I.
A creature with small green shoots growing out of the gentle flesh behind the curl of my ear.
With weird-shaped dead branches growing through my cunt.

This Potomac.

Picture found here.