The Gift

I was born with a gift
passed down from the sirens on my father's side,
the banshee on my mother's:
the protective charm of song.

Once, when only a child,
I made a woman weep from my singing.
My throat closed up not long after that
from a particularly ruthless curse

Some years ago, at the moment of my certain suffocation,
and not without an amount of effort,
Imanaged to whisper a lullaby to myself
and it soothed my nerves and body: every knot unravelled,
I became a river.
Iknew then it would always be my greatest source of power