Incantations by Valerie Parente
Where there is language, there is a pulse
and my pain is copyrighted on my tongue
maybe that’s why I’ve learned to love
the distinct taste of my own blood.
We made symbols for what we were hearing
we strung those symbols together to create meaning
we morphed meanings with rhyme and reason
until we made something to believe in.
They’re called spells for witches
they’re religion for linguistics
for poets, something mystic
God only knows the difference.
We speak these conditions
carefully into existence
the universe’s heuristics
have no concept of distance.
The rhymes and their placement
passed down generations
the craft of narration
in all its incantations.
Weak men call it a dark art
when women have wisdom to impart
from the larynx it departs
to the rhythm of their heart.
It’s a craft, nonetheless
but there’s nothing nefarious
it’s when we use our dialect
that it’s the ultimate catharsis.
– Valerie Parente (10-14-2026)
