Bewitched
A poem by Julia R. DeStefano
Bewitched
I belong to the magic
that makes me blush and quiver
to strip me of my hardness
and cradle me in its softness.
That magic is love.
Smoothing the calluses life has given me.
I belong to the salted air
after the last drop of wine touches my lips,
and I feel my Italian bursting at her seams.
To the sand and sea blanketed by a nighttime sky.
A firecracker tossing back laughter
alongside a lover who needs and knows me
like a poem he can recite by heart.
That magic is love
with a man who electrifies me.
A butterfly alighting upon an open palm.
A touchstone of hope with a jolt of joy.
I belong to the impassioned breath,
to the heat that overcomes me
while I work my body and mind.
Seeing how far I can go
with each increasing mile.
That magic is love for myself -
a precious vessel
I’ve been entrusted to care for -
as I wonder if the man
running circles through my thoughts
and banging on my heart drum
will ever love himself.
© Julia R. DeStefano
