Once upon a time, I conjured a diamond ring.
No, seriously. My sister-in-law had lost it
in the wilderness, devastated
and unsure where to begin to search.
The others told her to accept its loss
and move on, but I had just read
a book about nature magic,
so I went to the fire
and visualized that ring so clearly,
focusing on her tears
and waited for a sign.
A single stream of smoke
pointed off to the left,
so I followed it until it dissipated.
When it was gone, I looked around
wondering what the next clue was
and there it was, at my feet.
Her brother had just predicted,
“You’ll never find it,”
when I said
“Here it is!” I couldn’t tell
them what I’d done;
even the restoration of the prized heirloom
would not dislodge their disbelief
rooted firmly as they were
in a concrete world of particles
that do not coexist,
but merely sit uneasily next to each other,
Any kind of magic that relies
on unity and connection,
any conjuring that pulls a thread
to reveal the whole cloth
was inconceivable, even though
the diamond sparkled in the sunlight,
even though I held it in my hand.