As if there were some distant power,
hidden in the voice – underlying hum and huff,
of daily speech. The everyday stuff.
A song. A word of reassurance with my lover.
A laugh with a friend when times are tough.
It’s a small bandage for tooth marks.
I don’t believe in magic as such.
But the ability to be healed by words and song,
like a spell unto itself, every word a touch,
winding and weaving through broken flesh –
lyric and rhyme and prose –
knit the torn muscle, the bone, the soul.
Safe from those who’d harm me;
my doors guarded by lock and song alike.
Until my body is once again whole.
The beasts in the wild cry so sadly,
that their prey escaped them.
They cannot cross the words,
and they fear the song.
And they should.
I don’t believe in magic as such.
But what a spell could weave,
words wound tight about me,
till the wolves leave,
and the singing can resume.
Charl Landsberg is a South African poet, artist and musician. Their work often focusses on issues of social justice, feminism, social commentary, etc. but they also do work that focusses on fantasy, science fiction, and other speculative fictions.