The High Priestess

she plays a game of
Patience
with tiny tarot
cards

worn wax figures
slip
silent from her
fingers

Queens and Kings
and sexless Pages
mark the years
mark the ages

a childhood Tower
a youth of Cups
a Pentacl’d life of
Death and Swords
Fools and Knights

always Knights

bearing changes
fortune hope
feeling word

with a breath, she presses
back the marbled table
clean and cold and
stares
unblinking at the cutting
cards

she is ageless old

at her feet (in socks)
the auburn cat
curled and coiled

she bends to
stroke
the muscled
fur

You are so spoiled. 

he groans against her
hand
considers rising, decides
against

Lazy Lion…

her voice alone
defies
all age, for it was never
young

now its curves and
crackles
match the wilding
white
cascading from her
head

there are no more
apostles
no penitents, no
petitioners

to disturb the hush
of waves
to disrupt the rush
of sun

Just us.

she lifts him from the
floor
sets him atop the
cards
and lowers to
look
into his amber
eyes

Couldn’t you have waited?
Couldn’t you have found another way?

he makes no
reply
only stretches his
bulk
across the cards
to cool his lush
belly
‘gainst the broken tiles

she laughs

and the sound is
air and water
earth and fire
and the

              space

behind it all

 

©sdrogers 25 august 2013

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