Her Best Trick (Poetry)

My mother’s house looked clean and neat
illusion her best trick
no one saw the rot inside
the dust six inches thick

The roses trailing round the door
her practised sleight of hand
for not one weed would dare to grow
on that cursed plot of land

Like something out of Ideal Home
nobody guessed the truth
until a bolt of lightning struck
the now-you-see-it roof

It tore through like a flash from Hell
revealed the hovel’s heart
hollow as some ruined fruit
from which fat worms depart

No pretense now that all could see
the witch for who she was
they pelted her with holy stones
and burned the place because

It helped to cleanse her poison from
the ground — the air — the mind
earth slowly grew a patch of green
there’s nothing left to find

All gone. All gone — my mother’s house
the gloom, the lock, the key ...
But no one found the darkest room
she made inside of me