Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!
I’m so happy you’re here.
Each of these Sunday poems center loosely around a tarot card, and this week we’re checking in with Judgement.
This card reminds me that I’m always growing up.
FIGURE If you’re lithe and underage, And your mother likes to say: “Girl, show off that little figure,” Know that there’s another way. You don’t have to wear tight jeans that just barely zip up, Walk by craving eyes and know that they admire your butt. All that is fine, of course, dear, As long as it’s your idea, and stops when you’ve had enough. If you’re naïve and petite, And your mother wants you innocent and sweet, Don’t go to her for advice on how to move through the night. You won’t learn the defenses that you need. Go seek your education from unlikely sources, Just as the other creatures who crawled from city to forest, Those who sought a slower pace, a moonless night, Communion with the natural forces. If you’re told you're born with sin, But that doesn’t feel true about the body you live in, Listen hard to that voice, turn it all the way up, blast it loud, Allow yourself to be carried to safer waters by the southern wind. You will have to build your own baptismal font, Something that can bear up beneath the weight of all the haunts, From stone, or wood, or any other source that you might use. One condition: your building materials cannot be bought.
