Ritual: or, How to Make Gall Ink and a Quill Pen

A wasp alights on an oak branch. 

Its leaves are verdant. 

The wasp ruptures the leaf and lays her eggs

Time passes a year. Two. Three. 

Surrounded by gall that it slowly eats

Tunneling out 

-two pounds for tannins-

Where the heat splits bark

Dark twisted trunk and branches

Its leaves are a canopy, shading the wound

Sap seeps from the acacia, clear, amber, and gold

In the hot sun it hardens

-one pound for viscosity-

Dark and deep

Workers traverse tunnels

Boots step into silent pools of water

Sinewed arms swing back and strike

With a pickaxe

Mining silver, copper, and iron

Dust sprays with each strike

Hands gather 

-two ounces – for the reaction-

Set barrels for rainwater, three gallons

Crush together the iron, gum, and gall small––but not too small

Boil together and add a measure of wine

-however much for longevity-

Wait for a fortnight 

Dead geese are plucked

left wing, preferred

a perfect angle for flight

Its tip sharpened

with a knife

and split at the nib

for the flow

They come together

Dip, swirl, and glide

Forming fictions of the mind

Alighting on paper

The passion stains the fingers

Nerves alight.

Ink smudges the skin.

The dark blooms where the fingers hold.

Heartbeats quicken

Brows sweat

Muscles tighten

It is passion worth waiting for.

Ritual.