Rumor prances on soft-clad feet, a whisper
dancing from house to house while truth
settles its debts in the work-house, dressed
in rags. Rumor’s gaudy costume flutters
and it carries enticing scents in its wake,
chocolate and grilled meats and perfumes
that conjure evenings full of bustle
and good cheer. You have heard the flapping
of Rumor’s tongues, as a brisk breeze catches
at hems, billowing tales. No one recalls
where Rumor went, by the time its stories
spread to cast shadows over lives.
Maybe
my ancestor somehow deserved her fate:
not a witch in the sense of a contract
with the devil, signed in blood, but guilty
of wrath or greed, impatience
or simply knowledge of her neighbors’ lives,
of herbs and poultices and tisanes.
Always a woman bears the blame
as she bears the children, swelling
under the gazes of judging men, weary
of feigning obedience when she can threaten
illness or harm, force power to bend a knee
to her. I can guess why Rumor chose to make
an example of her, its poisoned tongues
salivating for the chance to purge society
of its awkward outsiders, its women
who find ways around the rules of men.
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In the past quarter-century, Jennifer Crow’s work has appeared in many print and electronic venues, including Uncanny, Analog, and many anthologies. Her most recent publication is a chapbook, Take Up Your Skin, which includes work from her Patreon as well as new material. It can be found in Kindle version on Amazon, or at www.patreon.com/poetrycrow. A Rhysling Award winner in 2023 for her poem “Harold and the Blood-Red Crayon,” she will have work in upcoming issues of Penumbric and Asimov’s Science Fiction as well as her poem in Kaleidotrope. Those who’d like to know more about her writing can catch up with her on Bluesky: @writerjencrow.bsky.social |