It can be done with obsidian,
or a necklace, or a shard
of mirror.
Nostradamus used water
in a bronze bowl.
I tried it once with a wine glass
under the piano.
It’s not about crystal, how it
traps light and bends it
in a circle.
It’s about branches rustling
against the side of the house,
how my mother thinks it’s Satan
crawling in the dirt.
She threw holy water
in the hall because
she heard him growling.
The Egyptians used ink
in a child’s palm.
It can be done
with animal blood, moonlight,
an oyster shell full of pond water.
It can be done with a window
in the dark, your own face.
Each atom is a variable:
the moon in Pisces
or not,
the hushed theater
in the house of cards,
a glint of light caught
in another.
This is one of two Fall 2015 GC Online Exclusive poems by Regina DiPerna. Click to read "Self-Portrait as Ritual."