A battle cry for Halloween...

HER KIND

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is nt a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skilets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearrangingthe disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
i have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
wavedmy nude arms at villagers going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor;
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

--Anne Sexton