Widdershins
thorn run back to bloom
This work is dedicated to unknown ancestors, whose histories were erased and whose absence fragments my story. As White folk, we committed parricide and severed ourselves from our own ancestral roots. Then, jealous of cultures that honored their past, we sought to erase theirs too. Or, as is too often the case for White people nostalgic for a home we cannot remember, we appropriated the history of others. But cultural history is shaped by its origin and the ancestors of others are not ours (White folk) to claim.
Though ripped from the earth and hacked from the main stem, we are not rootless. We are cuttings capable of re-growing, of remembering. Our myths and Fae stories are the echoes of our gender expansive ancestors, and our work cultivating these myths is the work of reconnecting us to our extended human family. As researcher and Afrofuturist
has expressed:The entire point of decolonization is not for white people to leave the Earth but to come home to the Earth and be our family again.
They need to remember their roots, heal the harm their ancestors enacted, and choose to reclaim the beauty of their ancestral rituals.
This poem is a step in that journey. The title is drawn from the old Germanic adverb meaning “against the usual way.” It is often used in European folklore and magical contexts to signify reversal, disruption, or moving against the dominant currents. It is a word central to Kayla Love’s forthcoming work for White people looking to reconnect with their ancestors, A Widdershins Diary. With it, my aim is to challenge conventional White narratives and summon a legacy too long silenced. Thus “Widdershins” is a reference to the profound ancestral pain shrouding White lineages impacted by White colonization and which, in turn, became colonizers. It acknowledges the dual nature of my inheritance, encompassing both the vulnerability and brutality in our shadow. It is a lament for those kin excluded from historical accounts, including gender-expansive individuals, queer elders, and mythical figures erased by dominant historical perspectives. And it is a plea for reconciliation, even in the absence of tangible remnants. It presents a framework for rebuilding, drawing from apology, disruption, and the preservation of cherished memories.
For now, the work is free to all readers. But as with my other poems, it will eventually be moved behind the paywall.
Jenny
Widdershins thorn run back to bloom There is so much past between us That we cannot speak of now Words like blows of thunder Make me flinch into the harm i move widdershins Counterclockwise To the flow of history Praying it will spew me out Before the trauma swallows me Pain as legacy A dime store locket Passed hand to hand cursed heirloom i seek the human in me But run afoul devils Carved from tooth and bone Gnarled faces serving testament To shaping pain These Fae Once beautiful Now deranged Gnawing at my marrow We enact What is enacted The blood on our hands As much our own as others And though we wash and wring The stain confesses our crime i do not know If there is a homecoming If any stone remains Nestled on its pair But in the ruins i start anew Building castles On foundations of apology