A poem about one person's attempt to exist in a world of bullying and intimidation. |
An Incantation The decision to do it was sudden, no premeditation for this incantation. Things that she needed were easy to find, apart from the sword. Would a knife-blade suffice? It was silverly sharp after all. Ivy aplenty; some bunches she gathered, along with one single red rose. Bone was a chore, but there were bound to be some, so she dug in the earth and finally a score. It was old, it was aged, frail as the bird it had once belonged to. Even so, without a doubt it was bone. She stole out in to the night, her clothes black, hood pulled low; she'd recite those words, now memorized, beneath the moon's soft glow. She placed the ivy to the back, making a half circle, joining it together with bone and with rose. What should she do with the blade? So few instructions, so with a wing and a prayer she'd follow her instincts; they'd brought her there. Kneeling, she kept the blade clasped in her hands, and then she began to intone: "Maiden, Warrior, Mother and Crone, Flower, Sword, Ivy and Bone, Help me make myself my own, Maiden, Warrior, Mother and Crone". Had she expected a reaction? Some kind of sign? Nothing changed; all was as it had been before. Had the Morrigan turned, closed firmly her door? Surely, such as she would give an answer, some kind of clue that she had heard the call and would not turn away and leave it unheeded. Was it the lack of blood? There had been no mention but maybe, just a tiny nick... a drip! The moon passed behind a cloud. She shivered, tossed the ivy, the bone, but kept the rose, blood-red; the knife would have to be returned. Morning and she began to doubt; had it been a dream? Had she really gone and spelled it out? Head down she made her way to school, to the bullies that waited, for the taunting she always anticipated. Was it chance when at her feet a feather fell, long, black? And in the sky, they wheeled, they cawed, one landing either side of her. She lifted her head, stood straight and tall; she'd gone and she had made that call. She had not the slightest doubt... the Morrigan had her back! |