“Six coins to poke the freak,
twelve coins to make her scream!”
Gold covered the announcer’s teeth,
silver clinked in his hollow breast.
Having heard the man speak,
the Witch sold her wagon,
paid ten coins of silver and of gold three.
“Do not poke,” she told the stick,
“real tales aren’t told through shrieks.”
Pure of soul and of flesh, she was.
One of a kind, thought the Witch.
Not half woman and half spider,
but one of Nature. Whole. Complete.
One day, I will write the story of how she spider-woman goes free and becomes anything she wants. Maybe she will get a magnificent red dress and eight stunning boots, like the beauty in Madre by Ray Caesar.
Tomorrow night, the circus comes to town. Won’t you wear your best smile, and join the The Moonlight Party under the Big Top? I will be there with 13 coins, rooting for the spider-woman, wishing her free.