My father hunts witches
   studies the occult
   reads all about Salem
doesn’t let my little sister
   dress up on Halloween
and always carries with him
   a Coors silver bullet
   a garlic glove
   a wooden cross
and a rare iron stake.

My mother is a witch
   I mean that quite literally
for she rides a broom
   cooks in a cauldron
   has a rat nest in her hair
   studies Mephistopheles
   makes unholy Swiss cheese
   prefers the Lions o’er the Saints
and hides her little spells
   from my father in a dictionary.

My sister can turn invisible
   float across the room
   bowls with a crystal ball
   has an undead boyfriend
can mix a love potion
   that will knock your socks off
sticks pins and needles in her dolls
and wants a new broom,
   the latest model of course,
   for her sweet sixteen.

Southwest High Creative Writing Award, Spring 1986

Available under the following terms: CC-BY-4.0