Oct/Nov 2018 Poetry Special Feature

Tarot Love

by Sheikha A.

Public domain image adapted by Tom Dooley

Tarot Love

I imagine the cup in knight's hand—nothing is
ordinary about our spread. I look for a dream
in which the wand will puncture the fool
without spilling any of the ground-laying
cups, but all I get is the abundance of rain
wetting my intent into limbo. She shows me
an earth distant from the hills, and I see him
settle his horse from kneading its hooves
deeper. In her hand is his spirit, like a silver-
gold wand pointing him towards a woman
shrouded in black craft; he looks at me as
the only face he knows—like an equal
part demand in a triangle of wants. The cards
manifest a hologram of elusions; he encaged
in his shadow in a mirror. I tell him of the fish
I see as she decks the cards like a sheet of ice,
line upon line of shaded pellucidity; and my
voice a lingering wisp around the leaf the lovers
hold; my gaze cutting the fugue in his mind;
the crown of fertility embedded with thorns.


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