Sample Poems by Susana H. Case

Sarah Good

First to testify, I shove my unruly hair
underneath my white bonnet,
clean for the occasion. Mindful
of appearance, I know
the villagers cannot abide me: my poverty,
begging,
the turbulence,
curses I admit
I have made upon their livestock.
[You make excuses for them!]
But I must, I am wrecked
since the loss of inheritance
rights, my downhill slide,
know the ruin upon me
makes my eyes look hollowed out,
more like seventy than thirty-eight.
Even my four-year-old
gives evidence against me. And my husband,
William, affirms if I am not already a witch,
I soon will be one.

The worshipful Mr. Hathorne, asked him his reason why he said so of her, whether he had ever seen any thing by her. He answered 'No, not in this nature; but it was her bad carriage to him: and indeed,' said he, 'I may say with tears, that she is an enemy to all good.'

[The burden of text, of dismissive husbands.]
       When asked, it is true,
I cannot recite what I have been muttering-
the Ten Commandments, no devil's curse.
A witch, they said, would leave
this clear indication, the inability.
I dissolve like sand in mud.

        In court, a girl cries out
I stabbed her breast; she produces
a piece of knife she says
she pulled from her chest. A man
comes forward, the only supportive one,
testifies he broke his blade the day before,
threw the upper part away near
the afflicted girl. When the two knife pieces
fit, the judges are agitated. The girl
is told to stick to facts,
not exaggerate, but so many
are already sure, and I am guilty
of homelessness, the burden
of Daniel Poole-
my dead first husband's debts.

        When the accusers again fall down
in fits, quake like feverish dogs, I have
no choice but to accuse
the other Sarah-Osborne.
[I do not blame you.]
I fear it fixes my fate
with the trial I help legitimate. Soon
we will both die.
She admits a recurring dream, a sign
of witchcraft, of the devil-an Indian
grabs her by the hair,
drags her from all she knows, her home.

Calamities Due to Discourse with the Devil

After many days, no geese; death of cows,
or their red-blood discharges,
arthritis, feverish swellings-signs of unceasing bewitchment;
destitution of fruit, spotted,
rotted; damnified corn
sticking out of muck;
theft of information, knowledge of what is said
privately at night; household objects
filched and found;
accidents like wounds on the leg,
on the arm; in tailoring,
the wrong placement of sleeves; trouble
working the flyer whorl
of a spinning wheel; fine cheese
destroyed by maggots; beer bad
in the barrel; loathsome stink,
hex upon an oven that prevents tasty baking;
after many days, no warmth.

Signs of calamity to come-
comets,
eclipses,
meteors,

rainbows.

Red

Who is to say what the color is
of midlife? Not you,
your twenty-first century
New York City black; I want
the authority
of a red lace bodice-woe
to a black dress,
neck to toe, want to feel anything
could happen; the worst
soon will happen, ultimate sanction
on Gallows Hill.

[What does it feel like, Bridget?]
I am an outsider here.
To be the first one hanged
and for my rich taste
of the real world, not
that witchy one the villagers
imagine-a pox on them,
their mealy morality-of course,
I want the flavors
of butter,
blood on my lips,
want to taste all
the colors, will not taste the final colors.

I have also in her examination taken notice that all her actions have great influence upon the aflicted persons and that they have been tortored by her

In my sixth decade, I should be
thought neither young
nor old
for this much slander,
this much red.

A Thing like a Great Dog

Tituba's confession lasts three days.
Before this, she was voiceless.
Led in manacles
by the constables, what choice
has she but to say the devil
appears like a hog, a thing all hairy
like a great dog,
a thing like a man,
like a little yellow bird, to say
that a conspiracy of witches
with their creatures from the invisible world
permeates the village-the present
thronging of the jail.
After all, it's a litigation nation, this one,
with petty disputes-suits
and counter-suits over property, money,
oxen, corn, sheep.
The consolidation of power-
she is a scatter of leaves in autumn wind.

That Tittapa an Indian Woman Servant to mr Samuel Parris of Salem village in the County of Essex-aforesaid-upon or about the latter end of the Yeare 1691 In the Towne of Salem Village afors'd Wickedly & felloniously A Covenant with the Devill did make & Signed the Devills Booke

It's not unusual for a slave like her
to be afraid, act docile, when
the afflicted speak of the apparition
Indian all black.
Used, accused, she needs to save herself.
Women need to save themselves.

The girls, situated together, observed
for signs of pain when Tituba
is brought in, fall down and flail about
as soon as she enters the court.
Hathorne's relentless questions-
the floor heaves up to the roof
for one instant, and nothing
will ever make that room warm.

She attests that she refused
to succumb to the open mouth
of evil, swears
the two Sarahs hurt the children,
admits she pinched them
only once herself. The deafening
whoosh of riding on a stick-she describes
being carried like a gust
great distances through air;
tries a fit, a seizure, being struck dumb.
It's more than she can bear. She needs
to figure out what the whites
want to hear.
So few imprints left on history-

Satan present and active;
she finally confesses she signed
her name in blood.