A wand chooses its owner

Day 19 – Write a poem about meeting your favorite fictional character.

photography by Abraham Jaramillo


The night I stumbled through
an English alleyway at Two,
I tripped over a pram, of all things.

When I came to, I stood up in
a small room with no windows,
a path of light leading to a door.

I walk through, a bird of
crimson feathers breaks the door
lands on my shoulder,
its claws causing me to wince.

“Terribly sorry about Fawkes, he’s friendly.”
came a voice from behind me. 

“You must have a world of questions.
My name’s… “

I see the scar on his forehead,
his name I know too well.

Books about his fights
riddled by bedroom floor
giant spiders, ogres,
how he raised an army,
cheated death. 

“You’ve been selected to participate in a Muggle…er, sorry, Non-Magical Exchange program.”

I sheepishly nod.

“Brilliant. Hold on to my shoulder. This won’t hurt but you may feel queasy. “


I clasp his shoulder, our bodies melt,
limbs stretch for miles,
my breath cut short,
snippets of forests, beaches, snow,
blaze past my eyes,
until we land on gray concrete.

“That was an Apparate spell, a way for wizards to travel instantly. It wasn’t…enjoyable the first time for me, either.”

I find my world transformed.
Children in dark robes,
parchment hovering in front of them,
goblins brushing past my legs,
screeching through the air,

“Welcome to Diagon Alley. This is where we wizards go to shop.”

We walk down cobblestone streets
through shops for wands,
hardbound books that
smell of leather and dirt,
magical creatures, fanciful trinkets,
vials of bright liquids. 

My mouth becomes a spigot,
recounting sleepless nights,
engulfed in the pages,

longing to be part of his world. 

“That joy you felt. I know what it’s like. To discover a word you never dreamed existed. “

“Why me? I’m only a muggle.”

“We don’t that word anymore. Precisely because you are Non-Magical person.  We want to be inclusive, and strengthen bonds between both of our kind.”


We walk into a  dark tavern,
three broomsticks adorning the entrance.
As our meals glide to our table,
He pulls out two wands.

“Now, the reason you’re here.” He hands me the shorter one.

“We’ll try a simple spell. Repeat after me.”

He says the Incantation
and drinks float in the air.

I study his wrist,
try to emulate his timbre
but my mug doesn’t move.

Straighten my back,
loosening my wrists,
eyes pinned on the mug,
still it doesn’t move.

I’m blowing my chance,
anger swells inside.

He patiently smiles. “It’s all right.”

My heart is glass,
shattering f
ragile hope
snuffed away in an instant.

“We’ve been conducting tests on non-Magicals who may have latent powers when given the right circumstances. It’s still new to us.”

“Hence the Exchange Program.” My voice is defeated.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not welcome.”

He takes out a golden snitch.

“If you ever want to come back, hold this in your hand and think of your happiest moment.”

He takes me back home,
bids me farewell. I
hand him the wand but
he holds up his hand.

“Keep it.”


His body twists, in an
instant, he’s gone. My
childhood dreams,
raised and killed in a day. 

I take my wand,
stare at the edges. Dark
cherrywood beats in my hand,
a soft warmth flows
through my fingers.

What the hell.

I point to a soda can
on the ground and
say the Incantation.

“Wingardium Leviosa”

The can flies up to my face,
lands an inch from my feet. 

“The wand chose you.
It knows you’re special.”

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