The town had heard the story,
mother and daughter slandered hierarchy;
many snorted ----- bitter, bold -----
Upon crooked wood, we stood,
Where judgment sat and truth withstood.
Mirrors shadowed the place,
where freaks knew their place:
mother and I juggled our names,
risking our reputation and flames.
.
The judge snarled: "A well-respected man is a token!
His honor's law; he cannot be broken."
.
Whispers and glances hit,
the judge used his sharp wit:
and claimed that mother had me lie
serpent tongue, satanic lullabies.
This man held a name and purity,
He was holy.
The pastor wore a knowing grin:
Said that the Devil danced through mother's kin.
She cursed a man's honored name
— the blood that stained the church revealed her shame!
.
My mother wept, "He forced my trust,"
They scoffed, "Where is proof of his lust?"
Her tears were weighed, her voice dismissed,
She was a witch — because she threw a fit!
.
I shouted, "No! This isn't true! She bled, she screamed
— what more must one prove?"
They asked, "Did you see sin's debut?"
I said, "No — but still, it's true!"
.
The elders came closer, bibles spread,
fingers pointed at mother's head.
The mirror's grew deeper, voices steeper.
.
"A serpent disguised ---- a lady snitch!
Sins are stitched, no lips --
just scarred blood and torn grips.
Satan speaks through you, Lady Snitch,
You're his concubine whose sins will soon be lit.
Satan kisses your cheek at night!
You consort beneath moonlight!"
.
Their daughters watched with widened eyes,
Their sons --- pride and passive sighs.
My mother was a ghost of a woman I once knew well
she faced the floor, no longer defending herself.
The judge and pastor stepped closer,
and I knew judgment day was over.