Fun Fact

Of the six men who were murdered during the Salem Witch Trials, five were known to be excessively violent. Bear in mind, domestic abuse was legal in those days (ahem*marital rape is still legal in Ohio). Wives, children, servants and slaves, livestock, all were the property of white male landowners and could be beaten at will. Severe violence and murder were frowned upon, but the day-to-day slapping around necessary to keep everyone in line was perfectly fine. One of the accused landowners had murdered a hired hand in a fit of rage. The hired hand’s mother was in the crowd gathered to watch the landowner hang.

There were no reports of sexual abuse. It wasn’t a thing.

Who would report it? To whom? What would happen to the abuser? No one, to nobody, and nothing.

Interesting, though, isn’t it?

 

Highly recommended source:

A Storm of Witchcraft: The Salem Trials and the American Experience

book by Emerson Baker

 

Mirror Mirror

Women who grab power, or try, are generally reviled or at least held in suspicion (see the day’s news for examples). Mistrusted. This was true throughout our long history, when stepmothers were always evil and maidens always powerless and pure. When independent or sexual women were accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake-that’s not some cute historical narrative-those women were murdered. Funny how the Brothers Grimm were writing their misogynistic tales full of violence toward women about the same time. And all the women and girls watching learned a powerful lesson. Namely, it’s safer to hide under the protection of a man, shut up and keep your head and skirts down. Ever wonder how those themes play out in society today?

Much serious scholarly research has already been done on this subject, but I have written an unserious poem about Snow White’s stepmother for an assignment in my creative writing class. (See also Forbidden Fruit) I know it’s not a serious poem because my professor told me it isn’t. Maybe that is why it was fun to write.

Here it is:

Dead Madonna

Her loving arms a memory now

An intruder’s face emerges in the

Mirror, Mirror on the wall

Who is the fairest of us all?

No longer you, faded queen

The Virgin waits with her little men

unsullied body

a heady cocktail

of youth and beauty

waits to quench the thirst of the prince.

She is the only draught worthy of rescue

Resignation to fate her only

hope of elevation

Attempting escape

Renders her attributes mute

Else she will fall

To the dark magic of assertion

The witchcraft of power

The banishment of desire

In that case

Boil her lungs and

boil her liver

Use plenty of salt

Set a place for one

Lips smacking

bloody in the middle 

Mirror Mirror…

Still the young one

Why is it only Witches

demand a place at the table?

And where is her father now?

He rides away with

a nudge and a wink

 and his men and his horses

pockets full of money and deeds

and larger concerns

And so I ask you

Do we write our stories or do the tales tell us?

P.S. My memoir, The Uncomfortable Confessions Of a Preacher’s Kid, releases on April 4th! It is available for pre-order on Amazon now.