Portfolio: Draft #8 (Poetry)

Celtic Cross

Three of swords

Your hand probing your pocket,

phantom vibrations

Nobody’s calling


Temperance, reversed

Your mouth sapless, lips wrung dry

You swallow another sip of rum and Coke

It won’t slake you


Lovers, reversed

Remember Easter, faking sleep

You were waiting for someone who never arrived

On the floor next to you, they learned the tongues of Babel


Six of Cups

Pablo’s nose inks your ankle.

You think dogs can smell grief

easy as you can smell smoke


Queen of Cups

The first dream you interpreted for him,

butterflies in an old house

He wrote a song for you, but it wasn’t really for you


The Hanged Man

Driving your mother’s car down the Old Island Highway,

you thought you saw his brother’s ghost

Nearly drove into the ditch


The Fool

She says you can only read

with cards that were a gift.

You pick at the chips in your purple nail polish.


The Hermit

You remember hating her before you met

She was always at your bus stop after school

Spoke too loudly, knew too many people


The Wheel of Fortune, reversed

Your skull is an autoclave

You want to drive an auger through your temple,

release the pressure




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