From My Spell Diary

Summer, 2007 / No. 18

a blue pen and ragged cap, for the impression of his teeth, dipped in new

sweet wine

a brown switch of goldfish weed, because he pet-names his plants, bound

in white thread

for constancy coins from his cottage couch, thrown three times onto

red silk copper constellations a tin Eiffel Tower from his desk, hung

with electrical wire

above a live wick one prescription note, shoved down the front

of my pants & rubbed to sweet pulp inside my legs the lowest of charms

thumbprint, left, from sticky cover of Maclean’s (hopefully his) cut five

times, ridge to centre & boiled for tea (the “Roman cure,” last hope of

fading virgins and fatties)

nineteen paperclips, straightened to shivs, silver minnows nine for

each shoe

& one to cut with