WINTER 2013 (Issue 77)
 

Gina R. Evers

Learning to Read Tarot

for T.

Don’t make me talk about the moon
how its scales’ sheening
puts a ring around its own finger. Don’t
make me howl or coo or bleed or crawl
up out of the water like a crab searching.
I don’t want to run through the night
tired from playing with spirits, your Ouija
under my goosebumps. How dare you
tug off the apron of my innocence
tell me to cookie press out my desires
because Buddha says if I make sweet I can eat.
Do not birth me as your sister when I am eighteen
and you are twenty, when you know
ten years later we will sit here
in this booth in Los Angeles idling
over waffles and sugar packets and bad jokes about
the fact you have H.I.V. and tomorrow
I will see the ocean, and you will stay here.