Brujas are less tall
Their clothes are dirtier
Their nails bloodier
Their feet less small.

Witches speak louder
They grin and guess
They are more playful
They do irony well.

La bruja seats on mud
And smells of onion…
…There is something mightier
About the witch.

I fear the rot and stench of brujería.
…From witchcraft, I fear the dark.
You’ll get caught in the messy entrails of brujeria
…In witchcraft, the traps are sharp broken glass.

There is no brujo(*) in witchcraft
An unsettling fact
Which makes brujería
That bit filthier
More disturbing
Uglier, sexier
More of a power act.


Vosotras, witches
No tenéis

Ni brujo
Ni mal de ojo
Ni blanco de ajo
Ni mente hereje.
Menos sal
Menos dientes.
No sabéis lo que es
El duende.
No sentís, no lloráis, no doléis.


El brujo stares quietly
And smiles.
He will sing later
Perhaps, will dance
While the onion ladies
scream their duende
Give in to pataletas
Cavort in mud and tierra.

The witches, in the meantime
Balance over the woods
Eat a few branches
Dismiss the rotten fiesta
And wish they could join in
Slyly, jealously stiff, later.

* *

Afterword (The last guest)

* *

La bruixa is a different beast
She smells of romaní
She is kind and boja
With a soft sweet madness
That helps you sleep.

La bruixa doesn’t dança but sings
And would never succumb to el brujo.
Herbes against tierra, that’s the battle
Bruixes against brujas, for a laugh.
Purple leaves against black marrow
With witches still watching
Bemused, confused
Not knowing their boixac from their barro.


* *

(*) Wizards are no Brujos.
They are Magos. And have no clue
About how to stare, sing or dance.