7 of Wands (Moon Void Tarot)
3/14/2022
There was a brawl, spectral handmaids street fighting,
a birdless forest and the trees in autumn
loaming and thorns along my hairline;

I asked,
how you feel about me
to the deck,

received in the nighttime, over candle wax
and Phoebe Bridges melodies,

my flower crown in the dark looms
anthropomorphic, cottage core
in my oversize glasses, the meaning

closer to struggle, wandering in the woods
after all of these battles, my red lipstick
un-smudged, awaiting your fingertips

and my eyes closed, waiting for the crescent
moon to push through the evening like
the opening of a door,

and the struggle, what has been and what
will become, the weight of my breasts
against the chill of the blue-black air

and my hair, still long.

Each pointed tree piecing each inconvenient epiphany.