By Rachel E. Layton
I was raised by a witch doctor.
She taught me voodoo, and how to
track down a killer by listening
to his victim’s maggots.
She took me to visit convents of shamans;
They’d let me dig bones from owl pellets.
I found a skull filled with fur,
took pride in my work of picking it clean.
When I was four, a spider ran over my foot
on my back porch when it was humid and wet—
I told everyone I met about it,
stirring up a mix of horror
and heartfelt apologies.
Mother understood better than me.
She was a voodoo Queen,
brought up on the culture of cicada sounds.
She learned before me that
people do not like insects.
Normal kids were not raised with bugs in the freezer.
Normal girls did not
pick up Junebugs and find comfort in how they
grip the tip of your finger tight like you are
their tree, tangled to you like Velcro. No,
normal kids were not raised like this. Indeed, no
normal kid was ever raised by Her.
Witch kids like me read poetry
about botflies and skeletal structures. Find out who we are
in a laboratory.
I will show my shaman mama,
she raised herself a wiccan princess.
I will teach my children to summon periodicals
and bake mud pies
and track down killers;
How to capture great moths in night skies.
Rachel E. Layton
Having grown up in rural Mississippi and urban Germany, I moved to Memphis for college at eighteen and have been writing throughout my life. Topics I most enjoy writing about include experiences in the queer community, growing up in a non-traditional family, and mental health. I’ve participated in writing camps here in Memphis and have been published in several small literary magazines, such as Crashtest Mag.