We are the daughters of the witches you failed to burn.

What they fail to mention is:
daughters of the witches who burned the rest.

There is a charm for everything; one for keeping
slugs away from the basil, one to draw down rain,
to bless the bread, to make the jelly set.

I was born heir to charms more sharp than most;
to beat back demons, wrestle impure thoughts, make straight
and simple what the heart desired.
Shouted in tongues from heaven, smeared in oil,
charged with sacred Names, and most of all,
bound by the appellation prayer to make them potent.
My mother would not suffer a witch to live, though she spoke spells
in languages no human ever knew.

And, I, at last, looking upon these works,
turned back, and back again, and found a thread
of gentler witchcraft, wound it round my wrist:
left that assembly and its pyre behind.