sara Etgen-Baker Poet Free verse

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Old Magic

I walk where old spells loosen, 
d
  r
    i
      f
        t
          i
            n
              g 
like specters  
through the rafters of memory.  

My iron cauldron sits
cold
in the corner. 
Herbs hang brittle
on the wall,  
whispering
their forgotten names.  

Even the moon seems wary 
of the path I take~  
a thin, 
watchful crescent  
that remembers more than it reveals.  

I have outlived the glamor,  
the bright-eyed hunger  
for power shaped from shadow.  

What remains is quieter,  
but it follows me like a presence  
I once called
mine.  

Sometimes I feel the old magic  
stir behind me~  
a faint rustle, 
a shift of air,  
as though the past  
is trying on my silhouette.  

But I do not turn.  
I keep walking 
through the dusk,  

my haunting gentler now~  
a reminder, not a claim: 
even spells leave echoes
worth carrying.

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