I call out to the universe for certain objets nostalgiques, certain elements of memory, on a regular basis: a mimeograph machine and a VCR. My mind palace has an entire wing dedicated to abandoned technologies and to technologies that have almost disappeared. It is possible to find the VCR, but I am unwilling to pay 1980 prices in 2026 just because digital wisps of movies and music are easier to change, to edit, to take away when they get added to the invisible List of Naughty Items,  or the List of Watched Objects of True Desire.

These lists
are not
what
small town
church 
taught
us
they
are

I call out to the universe for certain objects. I teach my granddaughter that magic is real by letting her hold this pink magic wand that was gifted to me by a true-hearted witch. The girl wished for dark chocolate and for more books, both of which arrived, quite naturally, before the end of her visit and through no direct action on my part. We are true, I tell her, the real deal. It is, I think, a necessary way to introduce her to the natural world of dreaming.

These worlds
are not
what
history books
taught 
us
they 
should
be

I call out.