By Christopher Caldwell
Light a black candle and come sit next to me.
Mind the chalked-in pentagram on the floor.
You say love is magic.
Maybe, but I know that family is witchcraft.
Your daddy is Mr. Mojo-man.
Shake that gris-gris, boy
Throw them chicken bones.
Your mama builds high-rises out of gingerbread.
She puts eye-of-newt sandwiches in your lunchbox.
And didn't you ever wonder why little sister always seemed seasick
When she so carefully avoided getting wet?
You were born into the coven, my dear.
You say you fear burning
But every word you say is an incantation
And you love to merengue in the music-less moonlight
That poem you read to me last night?
Straight from grandma's old grimoire.
So grab a broom and hold on tight
We'll snatch an unbaptized christian child
And fly into the silver-sewn darkness of night.