Wicked - spoken word


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 class.
“Teacher’s pet,” he said.
“Look at her,” he said.
“Why do you always question the teacher?” He said, and I cried.
“Can I borrow your homework?” he asked.

And so I learned.
I put my head down, and did my work.
I said, “No.” when he asked for the homework,
and flipped my exam over as soon as it hit my desk.
I said “I forgot” when he asked my grade...

And then I did start to forget.
I love learning, and I’m good at it.
But that 4.0-
I was embarrassed.

I
still
am.

When I get an 100 on a test,
To this day
If someone asks me how I did,
I will say “Okay”

Why?
To make myself
approachable,
relatable,
Vulnerable.
People won’t like me if I’m too strong.

So, I put my head down, and I work.
I work until my hands are bleeding
Or frozen
Or shaking from hunger
and I am covered with mud and
everyone else has left.
I put my head down, and I work.

In elementary school,
I learned to use a jigsaw,
A table saw,
A drill press.
How to sand the rough ends of a freshly cut 2’x4’ and screw them together to make... anything!
My dad taught me
How to Make.
My dad taught me how to speak in front of the whole school-

the only first grader who wanted to read her poem aloud.

I taught myself to tie a rope harness and climb a tree with a friction knot I tied.
Up there, above the world, I was a Queen. There’s always been something in me that yearns to climb, yearns to rule, to be above it all.

I cried when I got to the top of that tree. My big brother had to talk me down.
That was elementary school.

When I got older, my dad tried to coax me into learning how to fix a bike. How to weld. How to use a 3D printer. My dad trued to remind me how much I love math.
It seemed like I never had time...
Maybe it was something more.

It hurts
when that part of you is denied, covered up, plastered over.
When that part of you becomes
Embarrassing.

And then I came to Earlham.
“It was a heart choice” I told my mom when I chose Earlham over Cornell University or Vassar.
Maybe I was just sick and tired of people asking what my grade was.
I wanted people to care about me.

I came to Earlham,
And I worked
And worked
And worked
And then...
I took a breath in the warm sunshine of friendship and
Lifted my head.
Lifted my face to the sunlight
Through maple leaves.
Lifted my face to big fluffy snowflakes.
Lifted my face and smiled and smiled and smiled and smiled and cried some and smiled.
Smiled because people cared about me.
Smiled because I felt like myself again-
Smiled because the sassy little girl in pig tails at the top of that tree was coming back.
Smiled because sometimes, when I let my guard down,
My friends see my power, the cleverness, the strength,
I have been hiding for so long.

I still believe in humility
I will acknowledge when I don’t know something
I will lead with vulnerability
But not at the cost of hiding my self confidence.

I am done putting my head down.
I am done slogging through male privilege
I am done hiding my pure, unbridled, joyful POWER.
I lift my face and bare it to the world,
Grinning from ear to ear.

I haven’t... forgotten:
My dad taught me to use a table saw, and my big brother talked me down when I got stuck at the top of that tree.
I need help, sometimes.
Sometimes, I need a teacher.
Sometimes, I need a shoulder to cry on.
And sometimes! I need someone to race me to the top of the climbing wall!
But every time I cry, every time I get stuck,
There is a power
Inside me
That I want you to see.
That I NEED you to see.
I may not be okay now, but
I will be.
I will be okay.

At the end of the day,
I sweep the hay room with my broom.
I back the tractor into the barn and hop off.
I walk home from the barn, alone in the moonlight,
Morticia, the black barn cat, trailing behind me.
I finger leaves of honeysuckle as I pass and notice a patch of yarrow I hadn’t seen before.
There is no other word for what I am.
Wicked.

Friends.
I ask you,
Could you learn
to love a witch?

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