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[First post. Not quite sure what this journal is going to be yet--probably original fic/poetry/whatever, but we shall see. Feels kind of good to have a non-LJ space to stretch out my limbs, though.]

Witching for Water

The jump into superstition, as easy as
a hand stretched out to the bold darkness.
The proof is, we can make an unlikely compass
from a length of wire balanced on a leaf floating
atop a small pool of water. True North, and
this magic makes one believe in all manner of
unlikely things, maybe that the creases
of the palm are dragged and coerced across
the hand by the magnetic force of fate.
It makes easier a belief

in the truths spilled by the glistening
guts of the chickens who forage the backyard,
heads down, eyes trained at grains and
insects with singular focus and the
intensity of the devout. Maybe such
witchery allows us to imagine prosperity,
joyfulness--justice rising from the sorrow
when some shaman from the desert
guides us to the needle-and-thread miracle
of the agave plant with which the world
may somehow stitch itself back together.

That, maybe, the world's hungry can chance
upon a handful of magical seeds which will
burst into exuberant harvest, sustenance
enough for a nation. And we can believe
in the equal likelihood of the thirsty sipping
water witched with copper divining rods,
and the cultivation of kindness in kings.


birdwingheart: (Default)

December 2009

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