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The Bones and the Cards
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NEW STUFF Poems 2020
The bones landed on the cards. The Fool.
The Sun.
The Chariot to bring them around
in front of me
so my heartbeat would even out
and my hands would stop rivaling
the dry leaves clinging to the sleepy oaks
at the edge of my yard.
They stand against the November wind
sweeping in to usher out October.
Here’s the thing about fortunes:
their fraying corners are soft against your fingers.
Applause. Admittedly, what I
Applause. Admittedly, what I know of the Tarot (I assume you are alluding to tarot cards) is restricted to Eliot's use of them in The Waste Land, but I sure to like this poem.
J-Called