Dances Can be Rosy - Unfinished compillation of work

Dances Can be Rosy                                                                        an unfinished compillation of stories, poems and journal entries from Fictional 1662

Jannett

First of May, 1662

Diary,

            I could never have imagined that this could happen. Mine own friends and I are witnessing trials, brought on by ourselves, because we made merry in the woods. I fear we took too long to realize our error and the beast we brought forth that night.

            I have long lived in a manner befitting a maid in the colonies. I attend church each mass. I dress plainly in natural tones, nor do I embellish my aprons with flowers from the pasture, as some of the other girls do. I shroud my hair, which is pulled neatly up, into a simple bonnet. But, forgive me, I wandered into the woods of Windsor that day. It started with a small fire over which we were to cook our meal. We settled not far from a planters patch below several leafy trees and a couple tall pines. I remember Cassandra say, in passing, that she felt eyes watching her, but Emma dismissed it, and so we all took our hair down and slipped off our stockings. From the planting patch we dug out a few carrots and clipped some raspberries from a nearby bush, and combined it all together to create a fine stew, with the meat we had brought with us. Emma said it reminded her of a witches brew and I remember, at the time, we laughed. We felt so far, away in the woods, eating our harvest stew. Cassandra hummed a tune and, ever lively, Emma began pounding her fists in the soil. It trembled like a heart beat and soon we found ourselves shedding our over dresses to move faster around the flames. I know we went in a group, but I cannot remember who else was there – only Emma’s laughter and Cassandra’s voice as it rang through the hollow. We felt not like witches, but like birds, trilling around in the free-floating air. But how am I to know how a witch feels? Mayhap that is how witches come to be aloft on the wind, where dances can be rosy.

            I did not think to conjure a spirit… nor had I dreamt I ever could. But I know that as we girls wove amongst each other there came another. T’was inhuman and foul in stench. It’s head seemed carved of the trees and the earth and horns crowned his brow. His body was that of a mans. Lean and milky, as if it had hardly seen sunlight. He wore tattered cloth about his middle but because we had long been intoxicated on the movement we pulled on them like harpies. I restrained myself from his wildness, but some of the girls did not. I shudder to think who and feel trepidation that the part of my memory that knows is blank. I know that when I ran, trailing my petticoats behind me like a banner, many girls remained with this unhandsome creature. I fear they pleased this devil, and I am bonded among them.

            I fear most especially. The trials I have seen set in the past are gruesome. Perhaps they force me into the water, to test my ability to witchcraft? Long before I sailed upon the shores of New England I hath learned to wade in lagoons and stretch my arms and legs around me, in the deep islands of the West Indies. If floating be a witches crime then I know of a whole slew of island that must be burned at the stake. If I tell the truth, that I am no witch, they will test me, and if they test me by water I can either drown or float my way to death. What shall I do little book? It was not I that summoned the demon, though I was there. I will have to wait to see if the other girls say anything.

Jennett

Cassandra

Mistakes

To whisper to Emma

Of old ways

Whence come I

Maw said not to mention

So I did hide our collection

Druidic poems

Are to be memorized

Then burned from

The scraps of paper.

Never preserved.

Memory seared and branded

Calligraphy in hearts

Never mentioned

I saw when did maw

Prevent the spread of infection

When a lass and her mother

Asleep did mine rinse

And she plucked

At the skin puckering a girl’s leg

At the browning edges

And when both awoke

The cut-saw was harried away.

From that furrowed home we were driven

They cared not that the girl

Was alive. We druids will

Always be witches

And so must hide.

But Emma, I thought

I could trust…

Now she is the one

Setting a spell

Now we’ve all been drawn in

To a Christian hell

She knows she saw

And I know she did

The lad in the mask

And the disguise that had

Hidden his face

Broken in contact to a burnt away gaze.

By the water trough

I saw him quite clearly

And heard their voices draw close

She told him to meet

Out that same day

And told him something

I ought never to name.

We arrived at the grove

And picked herbs

Mint leaves and clove

And when evening sat

On the thick of our backs

Emma shot out a laugh

She urged us strip down

And dig into a feast

And when we were whirling she summoned

This beast. He affected me greatly

This Sun king boy

With his sinewy arms

And brown ale eyes drawn.

I have not the pit of sin in my gut

For I have ne’er believed sin can pass

But I fear of the common folk

This fear of the wild

Their obsession with sinners and dream-folks and vile

They scare me bad

Not for the demons

Not the fires, nor hell

But that they think I control

Such flowering minds.

I heard Emma’s version

And saw how she dreaded to face me today.

I saw her finger flexed out to reach me.

But I’m quick and will tell lies to sustain me

Admit fault

Plead plainly

And repent for good

That they preach.

Then mother and I

In moonlight shall steal

Far away and start up

Again, by the new year.

Here’s to hoping I see dawn’s breath tonight

If not, please stars

Avenge me, my plight.

Sanders

From a Beech tree climb I spied I spied The girls a falling To rumble between the trees They whirled around As I peered down Hair tumbled to ground To the floor of the woods Back to floor forest still I spied I spied And the bonfire roared And beckoned me toward Where girls met And to where fingers twined Petty coats shorn and their hair Flowing absent of bind The dark one, Cassandra I spied I spied Her eyes making blue fire Each iris a pyre I stumbled approach And I held myself back Till I noticed the mud Fingering my bootstrap The gooey grit mess I spied I spied And I handled a glob And I coated my face And with such a disguise My direction was laced As a finishing touch I did adorn Berry blood war paint and pinecones for horns Till I trudged through trees They spied They spied And they unbuttoned my figure As I theirs with our eyes There was nary a demon Combed through the woods On that Beltane day Only me- and manhood At the bond fire play

The girls took my hands And they coddled my feet And embers whipped toes Till all twirls were complete I played the king But none knew it was me Libations we drank For once we felt free. “Monsters and witchcraft” I lied, I lied But I’ll burn at the stake If they knew of my kind Safe to stay shut, not nobler I fear Tell the judge I’ve no notion Of dancing or iris aflame And for whoever burns I may dance with their graves.

Emma

I have thought of a game

A game?

Yes a game

How do you play?

The game?

Play the game…

One of us will be bad

So the others are good?

We’ll need someone tall

With a mask

And a hood.

When we are done the bells will ring blindly

Are more people involved?

Yes, but you must stand beside me.

There’s a witch broken loose

I have seen her myself

We must lure her out

For the village’s health

How will it begin?

As all does in fire.

We’ll smoke the evil one out

and each win our greatest desire.

But how can we win against such a foe?

You go in, and you snatch it

Or lure them in

With a candle half lit

I’m scared

Don’t be, its not real no one gets hurt

Except for the sacrifice

Or what would the dreams

Even be worth?

©2015 Lex Vex