Poetry |
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The Ouija Board Says
by Angie Minkin
The summer we turned eleven,
the Ouija board was our most precious thing, sacred slumber party ritual. We knew each other’s homes by heart, mirrors of our own, but odd smells and sounds. We called ourselves the Crispy Critters, stayed awake with popcorn and scary movies. I wanted to be blonde and beautiful like Missy, tall like Rhonda, smart like Evie, calm like Kathy, so quiet and still. We nested in flowery flannel sleeping bags, spread out in basements, cold even in summer. House settled, lights lowered, we unveiled the board. So many questions, all the right answers from the magic planchette. One a.m.—stars bright in the warm Denver sky. We tried to levitate Kathy, her body a tiny star. For a nanosecond--she hovered, a hummingbird just above our fingers. We all swore it happened. Two weeks later, my mother sat me down. A running car, a closed garage. Kathy gone. Her mother and little brother, too. I thought of our alley, the red hollyhock dresses we wove for little dolls. Kathy’s were the prettiest. The Crispy Critters held one last slumber party on Kathy’s birthday, right after Thanksgiving. We linked arms, concentrated our energy, our prayers. That plastic planchette stayed unmoving on the silent Ouija board. |
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