In The Spin To Magic Where There Is None Poem by Cristina Musat

It was spinning that I did.
Trying to enchant myself
and transfigure,
to become.
I span and I span
until the dizziness turned dull and all the world seemed
sober.
for I then clearly
yet childishly unclearly
understood
that there is no such thing as the magic
of the story.
And all the while, I then no longer spinningly pondered,
I thought that it was all a matter
of voicing it
of voicing my want of wands
and spinning.
yet there,
in the empty room that was later to become full of my own
I said
that there was no such thing
as sorcery
and magic
and the shape-shifting of the flesh.
and in my little becoming self
I stood still
and
thought of lies
and of the child’s play
and of make-belief
I did not understood how this could be, yet
the thought was now clear into my mind
that the happiness of belief
was
a sign of not knowing.
And I no longer span incanting.
As I stood there in the silence of the child grown old
The world was suddenly another.