The Route

Witchcraft was hung in History,
But History and I
Find all the Witchcraft that we need
Around us, every day --
Emily Dickinson

I

Start at the Sheriff's office on St. Peter's Street,
at the red brick box building -- go past the vacant lot
with strewn rubbish and the chain link fence,
go straight until you run smack into the five story
parking garage.
Detour round the imposing structure,
enter the East India Square Mall, complete
with: health food restaurants (self-serve yogurt,
fruit juice, etc), a movie theater (with three
featured attractions: "Free Willy," "Much Ado
about Nothing," and "Silk Stalkings"), a real live
overweight male with stubble beard and dangling
dirty T shirt, lounging against a cream column,

and the visitor's center with all the maps
you'll ever need.

Exit through the revolving glass doors.

Note the fountain with water pouring
through the notches in the square teeth
sticking up out of a cement jaw lying comfortably
on top of the two round stone pillars --
square teeth-- fixed
in a cement Cheshire Cat smile --

the water falling about 15 ft into the pool --

children laughing, leapfrogging
on stone lily pads --

Turn Right onto
Essex street -- red brick cobblestone --
complete with shops, shops, and more shops --
"The Dancer's Partner," "Jack's Ladies Apparel,"
"Custom House Gallery," and the "Derby Street
Book Store with Great Lives of the Twentieth
Century prominently featured in the window.

Check out the displays, the fliers --
the U.S. Army recruitment station -- the office
of Salem State Downtown College,

pass by the people in 17th century costumes
handing out fliers on "Cry Innocent" -- a skit
after which the audience votes, decides
the fate of Bridget Bishop,

the smiling blond
asking, "Am I funny?" the man with her --
silent, stroking her bare shoulder,

and the man
with the brochures for "Dracula's Castle
("Salem's Haunted House" -- "fun for everyone")
the man in the Vampire suit muttering,
"It's Hot! God, it's hot."

examine strictly these afflicted persons
and keep them apart for some time,

III

browse through the trinkets on sidewalk tables --
the witch mugs, witch buttons, witch postcards,
witch bells, and

(take a parenthesis
to tell the shopkeeper who asks belligerently,
"What are you writing in that notebook?"

that you're keeping a journal, a record
of the journey as you retrace the route my great,
great, great, great, great, great,
great grandmother took (with seven others)
on the back of a jouncing cart as it lurched
from the jail (for the fourth and last time)
to Gallows Hill on September 22, 1692,
that you're interested in the contrasting view --

"Why don't you put in the witch pennies
while you're at it?" he asks)

witch pennies -- three for a dollar,

leaf through the "Witch City" T shirts,
"Salem, a Bewitchingly Good Time," reads one.

(neglect to mention Thomas Perkins, juror,
who sat in judgment of the accused witches,
Thomas Perkins (1659-1722), whose blood
is also coursing in my veins,)

rest on the stone bench at the busy intersection
of Essex and Washington, watch the water
of this second fountain pour out of the five holes
of varying dimensions in the large rectangular
stone slab --
(and think of the sign
right there in the window of "The Zodiac Room"
which features Salem witches, psychic readings,
magical gifts, and Diana, an internationally known psychic
who has clients in all parts of the U.S. and Canada,
who has worked with police in the investigations
of murders, and who employs "Psychometry,"
"tone vibrations," and "past life regression," Diana,
who does the utmost in her powers of discovery
and detection)
-- the stone slab,
a large gravestone with ghostly figures carved in it --

the water streaming forth
like five men urinating -- look that one there,
that puny stream, the oldest --
needs prostate surgery.

V

Get up, start again, cross Washington,
note the quaint red cobblestones in the street
have turned to plain asphalt, see Essex divided

this side -- suburban -- a neat
mini-park with benches,
young trees
with a small protective fence and a pile
of wood chips at the base, strange trees planted
in the middle of the sidewalk,
and the Essex House
with one and two bedroom apartments
now renting --

while on the other,
the far side, the "Witch House" (actually
the restored home of Judge Corwin), and

the sign with the arrow pointing up the alley
to the Witch Dungeon Museum

which gives one ample time to browse
in the gift shop before the show, before
entering the hall with 21 plaques
on the wall,
time to read each plaque,
each anecdote, each snap shot, hung
on the periphery -- including
one on Tituba and the girls,
one on John Willard, the constable
who didn't believe them, -- and one
on the Reverend Samuel Paris who did,

surrounded by anecdote of the poison
before the carefully rehearsed introduction,
the dramatic reenactment,
the encounter
between an accused witch and Ann Putnam,
one of her accusers,
well done foreplay
before being led down in darkness, led down
the winding stairs to the dungeons,
to the dark cells carefully created to match
the remains discovered in the excavation --

the larger cells
(6-8' square) for the accused who could afford
to pay for their chains and lodgings,

in each cell a wax woman
in varying stages of distress,
the cells
turning into smaller and smaller
and smaller cells where poor women died
saving the expense and bother of a trial --

the way turning darker, the shadows
still blacker, the cells still smaller until
in one of the last showrooms, the replica
of the poorest woman, hunched, standing
in a cubicle the size of a telephone booth
without a change of clothes --

and suddenly -- the cheap trick --
the wax figure
moves, a live woman's hands stretch, reach out
across the centuries to us --
our screams!

... echoes in the void ... floating ...

aside ...

the bill of Robert Lord,
blacksmith, who lived and plied his trade
on the site of the Samuel Baker house on High St.
the bill presented in July 1692:
Item: "for making fouer payer
of Iron ffetters and tow payer of hand Cuffs
and putting them on to ye legs and hands
of Goodwife Cloys, Bromidg, Green, and Estes
all att one pound aleven Shillings money L S D
1-11-0"
and landing next to

-- Isaiah Stone's souvenir and gift shop
with a large witch on the sidewalk in front,
the witch -- his second --
he wheels out
every day to the curb--

this witch (he sold his first)
with stereotypical straw broom, pointy black hat,
long black dress, (which covers her old wire
laundry basket body)
complete with
ash grey mask face, bright blood red lips
and mirrors in the eye slots --

"eyes are the mirror
of the soul," Isaiah says, seriously,

listen to this prophet, who tells tourists
"there are no witches in Salem," yet stocks
his store with the same trinkets --
this same Isaiah
who says simply, "I'd sell pornography. ...
If people will buy, I'll sell! ...
this witch --
I'll let it go for $300.00."

VII

pause for a moment, let it all sink in

before the first church in Salem -- Unitarian,
gathered "in the liberal Christian tradition,"
in 1629 (which is, I believe, 92 backwards)

read the commemorative plaque: "We covenant
with the Lord and one with another, and do bind
ourselves in the presence of God to walk together
in all his ways, according as he is pleased
to reveal himself unto us in his blessed word
of truth."

go past the Ropes mansion ... greet the young male
on his knees on the red brick sidewalk weeding out
the grass in the cracks --
his clear section,
in front of his house,
stands out,

VIII

walk through this middle class
residential neighborhood, check out
the old New England houses on both sides

pause, press your face to the wrought iron bars,
look through the black sharp pike fence, at the dry
black fountain on the dry brown lawn, look through
at the Salem Public Library, at yet another
red brick building
(red brick --
a modern Salem motif)
listen to the hubbub --
the confused tourist holding up traffic,
the herd, the horns blaring, the word
"asshole," floating in the air

think of all the innocent blood that will be shed
which cannot be avoided in the way and course we go,

sweat profusely in the heat, pick up the pace,
pass quickly by the Grace Episcopal Church,
the Quaker meeting house, and the shingle,
"Steven B. Hayes, Psychiatrist"

arrive at the intersection
with the statue of Joseph Hodges Choate (1832-1917)
"lawyer, statesman, patriot" (wonder -- any relation
to the Choate school? -- wonder what do you
have to do to be a patriot?)
call to mind, recite:

Mary Estey's Petition

The humbl petition of mary Easty unto his excellencyes Sr. W. Phipps
and to the Honourd Judge and Bench now Stting in Judicature in Salem and the
Reverend Ministers humbly sheweth.

That wheras your poor and humble Petition being condemned to die
Doe humbly begg of you to take it in your Judicious and pious consideration
that your poor and humble petitioner knowing my own innocencye blised be the
Lord for it
                  and seeing plainly the wiles and Subtility
of my accusers by myselfe cannot but Judg charitably of others that are going ye
same way as myself
                                if the Lord stepps not mightily in I was confined
a whole month upon the same account that I am condemed now for and then
cleared by the afflicted persons as some of your honours know and in two
dayes time I was cryed out upon by them and have been confined and am
now condemed to die
                                  the Lord above knows my innocencye then
and likewise does now as att the great day will be known to men and angells --

I Petition to your honours not for my own life for I know I must die, and my
appointed time is sett but the Lord he knows it is that if it be possible

no more Innocent blood may be shed which undoubtidly cannot be Avoydd
In the way and course you goe in

I question not, but your honours does to the uttmost of your Power in the discouery
and detecting of witchcraft and witches

and would not be gulty of Innocent blood for the world
but by my own Innocencye
I know you are in the wrong way the Lord in His infinite mercye direct you
in the great work if it be his blessed will that no more Innocent blood be shed
I would humbly begg of you that your honors would be please
to examine theis
Afflicted Persons strictly and keep them apart some time
and Likewise to try
some of those confesing witches I being confident there are seuerall of them
as belied themselves and others as will appear if not in this word
I am sure in the world to come whither I am now agoing
and I Question not but
youle see an alteration of thes things

they say myselfe and others haueing made a League with the Diuel we cannot
confesse I know and the Lord knows as will shortly appeare they belye me,
and so I Question not but that they doe others
the Lord aboue
who is the Searcher of all hearts knows that as I shall answer it att the Tribunall
seat that I know not the least thinge of witchcraft
therefore I cannot
I dare not belye my own soule

I beg you honers not to deny this my humble petition from a poor dying
Innocent person and I question not but the Lord will give a blesing
to your endeaurs.

Essex County Court Records

X

turn right on Boston St.
                                   -- the main road
to Peabody, stroll through seedier surroundings --
dirty, unkempt buildings, "Pilgrim Diner,"
"Arge's Liquors," "Sunshine Coin Laundromat,"
"Sports Haven Bar" featuring Miller's High life,
                                                 (think of sport,
of the swaying High Life -- of the afflicted,
the possessed, who, as they later confessed,
did it for "sport" --
                              wipe more sweat from your brow,
find shade to jot down notes -- "Dunkin Donuts,"
"Right lane must turn right" and "Yard sale today,
August 28, 1993 (as at the great day will be known
to men and angels) "antiques, books, tools,
household items, etc,"
                                 Note all this alongside an entry
from the History of Topsfield, p.90, the display
in "'the hall' usually on open shelves,"
the "pride of the housewife -- the dress
of pewter and latinn ware"
                                        all this below
the spectre of new red brick buildings
with square black hole windows: Salem Heights
Condominiums looming over the roof of the laundromat,

take left onto Pope Street, start up
the incline, judging charitably of others
going the same way as ourselves, offering
them our arm as we depart from the baseball field,
the lower half of "Gallows Hill Park,"

get short of breath
walking up the three foot wide asphalt path
to the top of the hill, to the playground,

look up, read from the Towne family record, --
"Mercifully, the deaths of William and Joanna [Towne]
occurred before the mad witchcraft trials began
and they did not have to suffer through the trials
of their three daughters which included excommunication
from the church and the disgrace and pain of executions."

read the petitions of old Isaac Estey whose life
dragged on until 1712, the myriad petitions
to clear his wife's name, presented again
and again to the presiding legislature,

(imagine the families' long trek down
this winding trail, the eight dark scarecrows
silhouetted against the red sunset,

the Reverend Noyes'
"Eight firebrands of Hell" ringing
in their ears ...
four little words ...
echoing ...
still echoing off the pavilion,
the chipped paint, the white pillars,
and black shingled roof)

XII

observe the large juts
of rock rising out of the sere brownsward,
the broken glass
glittering in sunlight --
the small fires
on grey slate and packed brown grass,

the basketball court (well kept up)
and a tall flagpole, the stars and stripes
streaming over all --

over the bare-chested young man,
sitting on the 15 x 9 oblong cement slab,
radio blaring,
                     the young man looking out
over Salem, the factory with two smokestacks,
and the new condominiums --
                                              (tomorrow --
on the slab, we'll see an alteration
of these things, we'll see an empty six pack,
a used hypodermic needle, and three quarters,
three shining pieces of silver,
                                            we'll see
                                            STORM
the graffiti: "DEATH BRINGER")

but today, the present, look,
look there in the clearing, in the shade,
a pre school climber, with clean, cool steel rungs,

look clearly at the landscape after the storm
at the apology of Thomas Perkins and all
the repentant jurors who
hereby signify
to all in general, and to the surviving sufferers in special, our deep sense of, and sorrow for, our errors ...
for which we are much disquieted and distressed in our minds, and do therefore humbly beg forgiveness...
and do declare, according to our present minds, we would none of us do such things again,
on such grounds, for the whole world,"

XIII

and, at the end, ...

know that
Mary Estey "when she took her last farewell
of her husband, children, and friends, she was,
as is reported by them present, as serious, religious,
distinct, and affectionate as could well be expected,
drawing tears from the eyes of almost all present"

and feel sad , if you must,

not for Mary Estey who could not, dared not
belie her soul,

but for
Stoughton
and all other unrepentant judges --

the patchwork of their sere spirits
stretched across the rungs,
drying as long as words last --

and for ourselves, our countrymen, our race,
our species,
for how little we have learned,
how little we have accomplished --

not for Mary Towne Estey, the self forgetful,
or for anyone else who has (as the searcher
of all hearts knows)
only love --
no trace of bitterness -- in the heart.