Three Spells

Jackson McCarthy (he/him) 

Make me of the body spell 

And even if the night were bad, 

how could I want the wanting day, 

everything in it always receding? 

Make me of the body, always. Wouldn’t 

mind the blood and guts. Wouldn’t 

mind the decay. The taking and never 

giving. And even if 

this distance doesn’t fold, 

if stars won’t touch his back — 

The yawn I pick up from his 

yawn: a memory of a breath 

in the surface of the dawn.

Love your messy hair spell 

Like Venus, like Antinous, 

like Pania slipping into the water 

when I could not make you stay 

or come closer. Love your hair 

even when it’s long. Love talking to you 

with our masks on. Love when 

you take your mask down so I can stare at 

your chin. Like a dumber blonder Saint Sebastian 

but less tortured and really happy 

to see me. O swallow me whole 

like Time does, then conquer Time 

with your Classical beauty! 

Moonlight spell 

We reach the point 

the mind forgets the mind. 

Across our great divide 

and down to moon-soaked 

spots on the floor. I want 

to be so consumed by something, 

to think that there is no way out. 

Turn off the headlights. Tap the stream. 

If poetry could make you love me, 

it would, I think. Close the windows. 

Lock the door. Show me things. 

Show me more.