In flames: A poem about the unfair burning of ‘witches’…

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They push me into the square

and tied me down.

They lit the ground at my feet.

The flames started to lick my toes.

My mother always warned me

not to get close to fire.

But I am confined to this area

of flame and heat.

I close my eyes.

I open them.

My shoes are gone.

My dress has caught.

I am done for.

What have I done wrong?

Why do I deserve this

untimely and gruesome death?

The heat crawls up my legs.

Fire surrounds my waist.

I look down at the people

who were once my neighbors.

They have stopped cheering.

The children stare up at me.

They look at me as though I am a goddess.

I have swallowed my fear.

I live.

I have not done wrong,

yet they hold me in fire.

And I live.

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