I’m a mineralogist now,
I tell Jake, as I show him my crystals
all neatly displayed in boxes. It makes
me feel like a scientist. But I use
the crystals to cure the bad things in my
life, to fix my anxiety and my
bad sleep, clear my room of bad energies.
I sent Jake a natural citrine crystal
in the mail, along with tiny pieces
of amethyst, clear quartz, and rose quartz,
because I was worried about him getting
cursed, and also I forgot it was his
birthday, so I killed two birds with several
stones. And when he’s nervous about whether
or not he’ll be able to get a job
this summer, I tell him I’ll burn a green
candle for him, for luck. Google which crystals
are best for job manifestation, and
make a bracelet with beads of clear quartz, rose
quartz, tiger’s eye, citrine, and green
aventurine. I’ll manifest it for you,
I say, solemnly, and now that I have
your address I’ll send you shit in the mail all the time.
The first happy poem in a long series of sad poems.
While Kenzie drives me home, I see
two crows (or ravens maybe)
on the side of the highway, in one
of those large, triangular strips of grass
next to some exits, when
you leave the highway and you’re merging
into the street that leads into your town.
And I look up what two crows means
(even if they are ravens)
and see that they represent good luck
and new beginnings. And it is the perfect
end to the perfect week, and the sun
is still shining at 8:22 pm, and I know
that I am allowed to feel joy at these small things,
these divine moments where I know everything
is going to turn out all right,
at some point at least.