Pratchett: A Dwarf Becoming Golem Poem by Margaret Alice

Terry Pratchett’s Tiffany would have hated
the depiction of Belladonna with her White
Magic in Which Witch by Eva Ibbotson, when
Belladonna approached flowers appeared
and snatches of music played in the air, old
men remembered the Christmas feasts of
yesteryear, a ladybird rested on her upturned
nose and squirrels and butterflies hid in her
long golden hair, eyes blue like periwinkles

Good grief, Tiffany would have torn this story
to pieces while I love it, studying it to make it
my chem for today – the writing in my golem-
head that tells me what I should do, though,
I’m a very bad golem, never concentrating
on the job at hand, I’m probably more of a
rocky dwarf than a hard-working clay man;
but once I start marching down the path, I
become a Second World War soldier

I’m most likely a marching dwarf, dreaming
about becoming a golem with Belladonna
as the chem for my life – would this count
as ancient religion, would blind Io approve?