I was prepared,
a witch in training,
knowledge knotted,
the first spell undone—
a mackerel sky,
mare’s tails flaring
in a corona,
Calypso’s crown,
a promise of rain.

The second chant
calls cover, rough seas,
asperitas
favored by pirates,
Magonian men
and their women,
the tempestarii—
weather witches
who summon the storms.

The final knot
unravels, undone
at their command.
Whales breech, spout hail.
A kracken uncurls
tentacles, grey
with rain untethered.
And then they pass,
leaving me behind.

Never again
did they come when called.
And so, I weep,
a barrage, a gale,
a tempest of tears,
run-off hoarded
in water barrels,
pastel echoes
of acid-stained dreams.