A Close Brush

 As she grated open the closet door,
 he was a tangled mess strewn on floor.
 Dragging him out of the cupboard, 
 she could see his body had suffered.

 Her old, trusty and true friend, 
 now lay all battered and bent. 
 He turned his gaze towards her,
 pouting his demise and slaughter.  

 “You, uh, want to come with me?”
 Dominique whispered to him tearfully. 
 He’d been abandoned there,
 where it seemed no-one cared.

 Broken, weary and worn out, 
 retired from sweeping about. 
 Hired to keep everything clean,
 now disregarded and unseen. 

 The old broom, now scraggy and old,
 in shreds, of ragtags lay in the  cold.
 Dominique picked up her magic besom, 
 as hexes of new ideas began to blossom. 

 Could her brush be polished, recycled?
 as a witch, her sweeper had been vital. 
 Gathering up ribbons and glue,
 Dominique knew just what to do.

 Revamping, wrapping and fixing,
 all new twigs that had been missing.  
 Rustic chic was now the new look,
 a craft she had happily undertook. 

 Broom now, proudly stood at front door,
 Dominique remembered her witchy lores. 
 Victoria Healing ~ 24.1.2021

Image: Dominique: Broom Crafting.  The Art of Brian Kesinger

The evil green-skinned witch flying on her magic broomstick may be a well-worn stereotype. But the actual history behind how witches came to be associated with such an everyday household object is anything but dull.


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