Forest

Wicked - some brief excerpts below By Thea Clarkberg They called us wicked and burned us at the stake. The stubborn ones, the “contentious” ones. The clever ones, The lonely ones. They called us wicked. The independent ones- Unmarried, Growing a garden of herbs. Walking alone at night, under the moonlight. They called us wicked. She forgot her place in the patriarchy, just for a little breath of power, and they called her Wicked. Back to the beginning. Back to a golden morning in April... Easter morning. The maple trees had all started to bloom. I was born at home, in the room that my mother still sleeps in. My mother tells me that When I was born, I opened my eyes, and Looked around the room Like I owned it. Elementary school. I was this little girl with blond pigtails who refused to wear pajamas and insisted on wearing a striped turtle neck and a pink corduroy dress for my school picture- the picture from kindergarten, where I have a black eye. So. Elementary school. Top of the ...