Don’t tell the witch by Susan Millar DuMars

after Anne Sexton


Don’t tell the witch, but we’re alright.

The cat, he chases milk bottle tops;

the sly, fat mice thrive out of sight.

Gangly grass and dandelion clocks

waggle and giggle, front and rear.

Don’t tell the witch – we’re flourishing here


in our big cracked house, red onion skins

autumn-crackle under stockinged feet.

Teabags plop like rotten teeth from the bin’s

laughing mouth.  By husband’s seat –


heels of brown bread toasted black,

stanzas scribbled on the phone bill’s back,

apple skewered on a kitchen knife.

No spell stronger than this loved life.


Susan Millar DuMars has published four poetry collections with Salmon, the most recent of which was Bone Fire in 2016.  Her new and selected is due out in 2019.  Susan is also hard at work on her second short story collection and is the co-organiser of Galway's Over the Edge readings series, since 2003.

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