I Met a Good-Witch

Kristen Lenea Ryberg

I Met a Good Witch

in the brook by the street
where the 15,000 square foot,
fort of sorts, sits on the ridge
down the road, which I’ve 
been told, not to trespass on
as the home-owner roles her
Tahoe window down.

I’ve been your neighbor 20
years, my dog is leashed.
She says, anyone can ogle us 
on Google Earth
track her road that she 
doesn’t know.

Next week, I notice her mailbox
is gone, replaced with totems:
a wooden flag, private drive sign,
a cross painted on the largest boulder.

Doesn’t want her husband 
to have to install a gate.

It’s beautiful land, I say,
irresistible 
like a community park.

She replies, if I let one walk my road 
others may come.

I am “othered” as undetermined
in mismatched clothes
a barefoot creek-walker.

Never been obedient, like my dog
who has learned.

            ~

I don’t tell her of the day
of the witch.
I witnessed two salamanders
wiggle across a decorated
door of bright pebbles
in her brook’s floor.

The witch appeared 
small as a doll, dressed in yellow
polyester bell-bottom pants
hair braided in a mobius strip.

She told me the last time she
was large, she watched 70’s sitcoms:
All in The Family
Bewitched
Green Acres
Beverly Hillbillys.

She has channeled
the Indian Head Test Pattern 
since April 6, 1961
when she woke up at midnight
with the television on. 

He wore a Chieftain’s headdress,
the illustrator, named Brooks, drew him
into service, as a focus to appear
during the quiet hours—
check the black and white tones, 
shown in every TV’d home.

The Good Witch and the Indian Head Test Pattern Chief
remain in conversation every week. 
The Tiny Witch takes notes, self-publishes broad-sheets,
Lists predictions of face-booking friends
curates Tweets, truth missing links.  

Today, she continues to stream
an underground channel on VHF.