Poem of the Week: ‘Witching Hour’ by Laura Purcell

1st Place
‘Witching Hour’ by Laura Purcell

You, the approach on the horizon, the barbarian – for are you not such a creature?

The witching hour creeps upon me and the threat nears

The liquor-slick mob brandishing torches aloft, held high, held proudly

in the chill of the night air, clamouring and hollering

baying for blood to spilled and feasted upon.

This devil-brute with his devil-hand, so eager now to desecrate my blessed land.

And I, awaiting your inevitable arrival, stand barefooted and braced

in the swaying grass watching with my weather eye

And I, the unwilling victim who will not go quietly into the dying light

who shall die screaming for all those gathered round, gathered close, to hear.

When I depart, when you banish me, I shall rage, rage against this injustice

and when I arise from the ashes stomped under trampling foot – No Mercy!

for none has been shown me.

As my skin splits and my blood spills – feel it boiling in your hands,

see it scorch and blacken the ground beneath.

Laura in her own words:

Aged 20 and more than a half. Favourite book is ‘Kind of Cruel’ by Sophie Hannah.