It’s A Kind Of Magic

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,

unjoined, disjointed.

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.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: conjure

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Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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