Wishcraft
JORDAN MAREE
with nothing but a butter knife
she carved a pentagram on the floor
it started with superficial cuts
but she clawed deeper, wanting more
and soon there was a valley
where before her life plateaued
protected by a ring of salt
she demanded what she felt owed
knowing better than to ask too much
her humility outweighed her grief
bargaining of mythical proportions
worked well to sway belief
she had read the book of shadows
as above and so below
every novel on manifestation
said from her the power flowed
the sacrificial photo
a candle burned alive
hot wax on her fingers
a spirit to revive
kneeling at her altar
there was static in the air
she closed her eyes, she sealed them shut
and chanted her desperate prayer
please give me back my lover
take all you need from me
please give me back my lover
for whom i’d do anything
then the lights had flickered
the summer heat blacked out
the candle’s flame wavered
and the room filled with doubt
struck with hesitation
a flash of lightning from outside
she remembered resurrection
takes longer than to die
and so she pleaded harder
wrung her hands ‘til they were raw
the skin on her knees split
and from her nose blood poured
in the valley, a crimson flood
the end of a year-long drought
as blood seeped into the wood
it drowned all reason out
thunder began to rumble
as the heavens opened the sky
her eardrums had exploded
as she was engulfed by blinding light
she’d been pushed over her limit
her eyes were rolling back
she let out one last wretched cry
as the room faded to black
three hundred and sixty-six days ago
she had never stepped foot in a cemetery
now life felt like staring into her empty grave
the headstones kept her company
and she buried her grief in a graphene crypt
swallowed by ivy that made her insides itch
skin blistering and simmering from within
despite death and all its finality
her heart was never at rest
so she haunted the library stacks
where she found comfort in the occult
answers in the esoteric
and the remedy in resurrection
but when she woke that next morning
it felt like it was her who rose from the dead
reality has a habit of ensuring sobriety
a reminder that not all loss can be found again
instead – a lesson in cause and effect
the inability to sleep
a refusal to eat
violent electric storms
in the summertime heat
she was weighed in the balance and found wanting
with answers to questions she didn’t ask
sometimes magic where we make a wish
is just a means of getting by
Jordan Maree is a Western Sydney-based writer studying Creative Writing and Psychological Science at Macquarie University. She has been crafting stories since before she could write, and now utilises her interdisciplinary learning to explore the human condition through fiction.
