The woman with puppet hands
No one ever talks of the last moments of those accused of witchery.
Who knows how many went mad or
Threw themselves into the river beforehand,
As a means of defiance. For what would await you?
Mouths open in faces you knew;
Too afraid to protest your innocence:
A mob, rabid with accusation;
Frothing with nationalism.
Michael Oliver-Semenov was born in Cardiff, Wales but now resides in central Siberia. Since ditching his career as a banking clerk in 1997 he has published words and poetry in a plethora of magazines, anthologies and journals worldwide, but who is he anymore? Other than the shadow of a person he never was.