poetry (the charmers)

The Charmers

You can weave them into bracelets,
these half-dark prayers,
braid them into the ropes of your daughter's hair,
tuck your son into bed with them at night.
It's impossible not to make them,
these bargains with God,
(knowing that's not how this whole thing works,
half-wishing it was).
Then a hole tears in the pocket of your coat,
the charms fall through,
the bough breaks anyway.
Still, we wash them into our clothes,
bake them into biscuits,
weave and ingest blessings
like wool and salt. 

Torunn Sweers, 12/16/2012