Young Writers Society

XIII four of swords

I was never told how
a century of insomnia
would weigh upon the
soul (I could not for a
moment wish to stop,
yet I'm not sure for how
much longer this can go)

XIV ten of swords

She should have heard it
coming through the trees
after the girl that she loved,
the girl with the child and
an awe for magic
uncompromising.
It should have rattled the
house like a semi at
midnight; should have
tasted like glass shattered
on her tongue. She should
have felt him cross the
veil into the world she
had been designated to
protect (it was the promise
she had made, after all, in
exchange for all of this that
came after) it should have
warped her vision or strummed
the rhythm that rang inside
her ears -- breaker two
something has distracted
the sentinel --or given her
any way to course correct
before it all began to shatter
around her neck.

wall to wall and treetop tall;
ten-four, death, the sentinel falls

XV the sun

She will learn to hold magic in her hand
as she holds the child in her womb.

She will be unrivaled
and she will know.

XVI ten of coins

A stack of silver dollars at the bottom
of a well dug through slate and earth
is more than an eternity of wealth for
a girl grown old with static in her ears
and morse code tangled in her hair.

XVII four of cups

There are days she won't
leave the bed, Anastasia the
girl with the girl inside her like
nesting dolls, a myth wrapped
inside an impossibility, a woman
wrapped inside a goose down
duvet. I leave the windows open
and she watches stars through
steam rising from cups of tea
and tells me about the flowers
her grandmother grew and dried
like the herbs I hang in the rafters
of my modest home. I tell her these
are not flowers, these are magic, and
she laughs and tells me flowers
were the only magic she believed in.

XVIII ten of wands

She created a hole when
she let herself in and dared
him to follow (he should have
been taught to keep his hands
to himself; but had he learned
we never would have been
where we are now would we?)

She nailed him to the tree with
her blade and the walls of the
forest came down like curtains
cut from the rod. It's hard to
fault her but I should have
seen it coming ten miles away.

XIX three of cups

When the sky is clear and the moon
is high, the veil will part and women
return to the forest to revel in nightgowns
and camisoles and old t-shirts with
names of bands they haven't listened
to in years. It is the sentinel who ignites
the lanterns and draws back the veil
and leads them through the waltz they
have done each year for all the years
she can remember. She does not bring
them there but when they return to
their beds their only memory will be
dreams hazy with starlight and thick
with breathless laughter.

XX seven of coins

Lemon balm, for most things
but especially for the way a
cigarette makes you feel sick
to your stomach, add peppermint
for menstrual cramps but keep
the cigarette. Mullein when that
November cough comes back
and thyme to keep off the flu
or ward off December nightmares.
Lavender will keep you calm and
a rosemary tea will get you through
until tomorrow. Two drops of a
mushroom tincture will help to
get to sleep. Honey will make
most things sweet, but nothing
will ease the gnawing in your
gut that not a bit of this will
be enough.

XXI six of swords

At what point
do you decide
to cut and run?
What else can
be gained from
this untold march
toward an end
I cannot see.

XXII the tower

It started as a spark
at the bottom of the
well; a spot of sun
concentrated on a bit
of grass or a scrap of
paper discarded with
a wish. She called it
the season, the sun, a
wave of heat and by
the time she called it
a blaze the ash had
settled a fine layer
in her hair.

XXIII seven of wands

I have never had a daughter
but I have had a pair of silver
spoons nailed to the base of
a tree. Sebastian once said a
strongly worded command
could grow just as well into
something worth protecting
but lately the weight of an old
pocket watch and a soy candle
burnt to the quick is not enough
to keep my feet on the ground.

XXIV seven of swords

She protects the forest, she
says with fingers crossed
behind her back. She is the
watcher, she knows but will
not admit that she gave up
hundreds of lives for a watch
that will never end with bones
in the ground but a spirit lost
to the wind.

The impermanence of it all is frightening.

XXV the moon

When she lays with
her lover in the old
four-poster bed it’s
easy to feel young
again. It’s easy to
feel at the start of
things and like the
child may belong
to her and the future
a mere glimpse in
the mirror.

XXVI six of coins

Girls like me we’re
sentenced;
vanity is a dead giveaway
for the wolf who hears
the future
on the airwaves. He weighs
your debt between
his teeth (he’ll never give
you more than exactly
what you deserve) and
drops you in the well
with a crystal or a coin
and tells you
wait
but in the end I
was not a girl like me
but a young woman greedy
for the things
she already had.

XXVII nine of coins

How will you know
you have made it?

(When the wind on
the eaves is not a
rattle but a sigh.)