Baby Witch

Baby-witch, my daughter, my worship of the Goddess alone condemns you to the fire. . . I blow upon your least fingernail & it flares cyclamen & rose. I suck flames from your ears. I touch your perfect nostrils & they, too, flame gently like that pale rose called 'sweetheart'. Your eyelids are tender purple like the base of the flame before it blues. O child of fire, O tiny devotee of the Goddess- I wished for you to be born a daughter though we know that daughters cannot but be born for burning like the fatal tree.