Dearest, Tituba. (Le Voir N. Lewis

Dearest, Tituba. (Le Voir N. Lewis - New Orleans, LA)

Dearest, Tituba, hear my voice; my crafty and powerful love.
I come speaking to you in dreams around midnight
with warnings from above.
Beware of the mysteries and omens that surround you.
Be watchful, for old foes await.
I can no longer take care of you from the evil that will ensnare you,
and the sinister eyes from Hell’s gate.

There’s a personal vendetta and the revenge is sweet,
stay watchful for the amethyst eyes.
A personal score is unfinished and pending,
you possess an eternal prize.
I can’t disclose who your enemies are and how many,
but your foes are from centuries past.
Dating back to Barbados and pain and in Salem bound by chains,
before you taught Liz Proctor how to magically cast.

Seek Marie’s guidance and omnipotent sight
to aid you in the battle along the way.
Assemble and staff fellow witches of the Dark Craft
for perilous danger will greet you at any day.
Remember your power, Dearest Tituba, and your strength
for our descendants’ lives are at stake.
Be watchful and waiting, always anticipating
the enemy’s plan to snatch lives and innocent souls to take.

I can only be with you before the evil befalls you,
and the sinister warriors approach this place we call home.
For the battle will happen outside your front door,
invading your privacy at evening’s soft gloam.
Dearest, Tituba, be wise and cunning,
have witches ready and at your behest.
Be bold with great pride, using the Dark Craft as your guide.
May Gaia protect you witches and keep you blessed.

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

The Peculiar New Room (Nick Perere - Baton Rouge, LA)

A peculiar fourth room has appeared in my three bedroom abode. High ceilings Higher than any ceiling in the house Perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls The largest window one can imagine Stretching from floor to ceiling Wide as an ocean’s horizon Revealing the lushest greenery and the bluest skies. I am meant to show masterpieces here. But in one of the corners o f the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls i s an ugly patch of dirt. Dirt darker than charred coal. And the dirt is crawling And multiplying. With their spindly legs and dangly antennae Vermin covered in filth and willingly ready to spread their germs Scuffing the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls. But I have to move on, I have a gallery to exhibit. Smile and act as if nothing is wrong. Come. Enjoy the show. Enjoy the artwork hanging Upon the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls.

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