March 16,1662 Poem by maddy macleod

The cell was cold against my face.
Deep in my dreams, lost.
They came at me,
Hands gaping in the dark.
Enclosed.
The noise, the cries.
The light, disguise.
My clothes lain in the mud.
“Forgotten” I cried, upset and derived.
The whip cold on my back.
The shouts of people warm on my neck.
Ruff hands, pull me up.
My eyes fixed.
The fire lapping at their heals.
Their faces writhing,
Their bodies shaking.
Their faces hanging, forever lost.
The smell, burning flesh.
They look at me,
Their eyes warm, not from the fire, but hatred.
I try to turn my back.
I spit out my words,
“Mother, Father, can’t you burn me instead? ”



Kiersten Hosie wrote this poem and it was submitted by: