The Magician

magic
The Magician lies to her child. Tells her child, it will all be okay. It will all be okay as she puts her on the Greyhound alone on its way to Colorado. Your Tía will pick you up in Denver. Colorado has snowflakes like you can’t imagine. Immaculate formations gentle and soft in your hair. Let them land on your tongue and you can taste clouds. Let them melt onto your forehead and you can hear rivers slithering and shouting. If you eat snow from the palm of your hands, foam will expand on your tongue and drip down your throat. It will taste like another time, a time when the water ruled over the earth.

The Magician was convinced that the planet Mercury carried her womb in the core of the planet. The Magician was convinced someone was trying to poison her. The Magician was convinced her seven year old daughter only spewed out lies. The Magician’s daughter was fragile pieces of skin and bones. A hunched over body, easy to unravel and grasp by the hair. The Magician heard venomous accusations about the man she adored. In the chambers of her heart, he was skill, logic, and intellect incarnate. He made her heart ache and vibrate and she was in love. She was convinced he was reincarnated from the soul of scientist.

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Azucar in the Blood

final-6-of-swords
Six of Swords from my personal Tarot del Fuego deck by Ricardo Cavolo. 

I have been taught to add sweetness. To my voice, to my tone, to the way I move my body in white spaces. I have been taught to shrink. Cross your legs, keep them shut, never spill out of your clothes. I have been taught to take out my tongue and let it hang down. Open wide for others to spit on my open face. Let saliva spill out of my mouth, put my hands around my tongue and pull. Pull until you’re numb. Pull until your palms are pruned into small soft canyons.
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