Carla Panciera
Incantations
I liked the name Rose for a daughter.
Rose quartz, in the hands of the right carver
might yield a six-rayed star from an inclusion.
I was pregnant and had begun to read things
like tombstones and movie credits for ideas.
Considered naming her Ruby.
Pigeon blood is the most valuable ruby,
and I liked that name, too. For a gemstone.
But then I miscarried and had enough red.
Our first daughter was born in July.
Had I called her to me, suggested a portal?
We chose another name, a bloodless one.
Named our middle daughter after the woman
who built our house. This daughter bought
a hunk of amethyst at a souvenir shop.
Produced it from her pocket for photos that trip.
Birthdays, she requested more rocks. River stones
with wishing stripes she kept in a velvet box.
Our youngest daughter’s name means
righteous. My husband hung quartz
in the hallway between her room and ours.
For peace, he said. For balance.
I lay awake waiting for her to discover it, rip it
down, but the crystal swung in lightless space.
Carla Panciera’s latest book is Barnflower: A Rhode Island Farm Memoir (Loom Press). She has published two poetry collections: One of the Cimalores (Cider Press), and No Day, No Dusk, No Love (Bordighera). Her short story collection, Bewildered, received AWP’s Grace Paley Prize and was published by the University of Massachusetts. A retired high school English teacher, Carla lives in Rowley, MA.