Nicole Hoffman

Third Place: Poetry

“how to cast a magic circle” 
by Nicole Hoffman
11th grade, Kent Place School

—

step one:

When your dearest friend tells you
she wants to cast a spell,
you must first pretend that you believe
magic is real.

Do not in any way tell her the vicious
truth that you do not believe in faith
or any God because you do not believe
there is something out there
capable of loving you.

step two:

You must find yourself in a
poorly lit home improvement store,
one that visits you in your dreams, one
that vaguely smells of rotting leather;
buy her every candle, every
crystal, every darkly shining object.
When she will ask for materials for her witchcraft,
you must have everything
she could ever need. 

She will never care for you,
she will leave you
if you do not
give her offerings,
a crow with gold in its fragile beak,
a child with a painting in their arms.
tips and coins left behind
in a clouded jar.

Do not be so bold as to let her see
your receipts,
the price tags of each object still
attached. 

Do not dare to let her know you were waiting
for the chance to give her everything,
to give and give until there was nothing
left of you.

step three:

When she then tells you about the circle
you will cast together,
nod along at what she says,
her promises of protection, of safety,
of comfort.

Do not dare to tell her in any measure, in
any moment that her words are not
what draws your eyes to her, that you could
live, become intoxicated simply on the
light of her unwavering belief in something
greater than herself.

step four:

When you finally look up what it
means to “cast a magic circle,”
memorize every single word.
Follow her witchcraft, her hexes,
her spellbooks, her dreams.
If you really love her, you must change
into a crooked, monstrous version of yourself
to content her.
There are no exceptions to this rule.

Do not allow yourself to
read too much into the words
written upon the screen claiming
infinity, eternity, divinity.

Please, do not imagine how it would feel to
love her loudly,
the glistening ring
you would offer her at dinner one
night after high school, after college,
after you both would get jobs and still find
yourselves in each other’s eyes.

Do not dare think of a future with her in it,
do not think of her smile, her eyes,
her laughter as divine perfection in itself,
greater and more beautiful
than any fabricated, fraudulent incantation,
than any stupid circle drawn out in faded chalk.

I beg of you.
Please,
please,
please.
Do not believe the lies
they claim about “forever.”

Cast a circle, go ahead,
that magic spell you once looked down upon
now consuming you.
Watch her closely as she casts her spell on you,
yes, listen to her laughter, bathe in her eyes,

but don’t you dare tell her you love
her.