Ace of Wands


Cuban babies up well past eleven, sucking on bottles and music

Letting a small Italian woman with milky-blue eyes retell my life

The tarot cards speak of swords and fools and death. I understand more than I let on. Maybe that could be a superpower

My sister tells me in that old boat pub to not worry about giving my heart away. She says Jill you give the same amount of yourself to a stranger as you would to someone you love. She says don’t go changing but always remember that 4 quarters are better than 100 pennies in your purse

We greet the frayed parts of ourselves when we gather

My sister says it best that we’re our most us and I say it sideways when I say I feel too seen

We all know how to get there and we all know the way home

I stuff it in my pocket and let the nonna’s words fall into the seaweed

Understanding that I can write my own cards and still heed advice

We swap the love chore of collecting coffees in the morning and we share toothpaste, showers, birthday candles and cigars. We say we feel him everywhere but it means something different. My brother misses building forts in the woods. My mother misses being needed so borderline-badly. My sister and I miss knowing we had more time to right a path 

I watch humanity crawl the boardwalk at sunset and we all know the words to Bohemian Rhapsody in that way that only happens in the folds

Quiet superpowers with only the good quarters in my purse.


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