FROM THE 2022 YOUNG WRITERS RESIDENTIAL ANTHOLOGY
My daddy is a wizard,
That’s why he burns his hair,
Though he never tells me why.
But I suppose that’s because he wants to hide his witchcraft,
As we all know what happens to witches and wizards,
Like the pictures posted through our door,
Not in colour, a clear distinction of black and white,
The witches and wizards lynched,
Bearing a strange fruit,
The ghosts bellow them with endless holey eyes and a burning
cross in their hands,
All religion, all things ethical, all things good burning away at
the hands of monsters,
Just a clear distinction of black and white.
So, my daddy is a wizard,
But, as I am constantly reminded, my spell is only half cast,
In a photographic world, black and white
