You will give birth in the spring when the invasive species take hold. The dandelion, the dog strangler. You will become a witch. How else to explain how your body mutated blood and ichor into new life? You will pay close attention to the seasons, what grows and what dies. Do ten sun salutations to a star that hasn’t risen. Divine meaning from small flickers, the squawks and growls your creatura sends up to the moon. She will be fat with love and milk. You will have to keep the other witches from eating her. You will look for birds to bring messages from the dead. Welcome the new year in November. Sing “All Hallows” to yourself when the skin between here and after stretches thinnest. Are you still listening to us? All your miracles will be wrung out and breathe without you.
