Sorcery : Nikita Gill

Everyday, I magic myself alive again

from the near death experience of trauma.

 

I swallow my heart back from

the lump it has become my throat.

 

I taste my own memories

without the flavour of blood but as poetry.

 

I learn how to whisper my name

without it sounding like a curse.

 

I murmer spells to the parts of me

others have found too dangerous to love.

 

And after this morning ritual

I finally smile at the woman in the mirror.

 

Tell me again

how healing is not a magical thing.

 

Tell me again,

how I am not made of sorcery.

 

Nikita Gill

(from the collection : Wild Embers : Poems of Rebellion Fire and Beauty)