Card 9: The Hermit

I burned a living rose in the fire,

its fleshsmell human.

The baby’s breath also reeked

burnt. I learned the tarot

in one sitting—arcana slipping

into my mind like a beloved

hand under my pillow.

When I woke I was so hungry

I ate the last pear. Last for the year,

another rotten year in which

I don’t need to save the pear for you.

It didn’t matter how I sat with you.

I didn’t have to cover my thighs

or make attractive angles.

I could look like a black spider

with flesh pockets

or a hairy, scrambled woman

and you would reach for even that.

I burned the pillow too,

so many objects here in the cabin

seemed to me akimbo

and interlocking. I put

everything in the fire

because it was too confusing.