Ixworth, Wetheringsett, Eyke, and Woodbridge, Ipswich too—
in village and in town we believed we knew the ways
to hold us safe from wicked witchery,
gathered the means, receptacles strong and small but large enough,
well corked for sealing, necessaries poured, dripped,
pushed in and held.
We knew to seek the places most secure, well-hidden, kept from light
of day: hearthside, doorway, woodland, field—a deepness
buried out of sight
and range of those who sought our harm, whose charms and spells
wrought havoc in our lives. Little enough we had for healing,
little enough of little
but sufficient of our own to add protection—urine, hair and blood—
our substance, spirit—made strong with rosemary and iron
to work a last resort.
When you find them, think well upon our ways, the powers these
might endow, and be more wary of the tales they seem
to tell and of the tales you make of them,
your tales of now.