I am magical now,
The Tarot:
Hanging Man and Earth reversed.
Hunger returned early,
Solemn, I heated beans on a blue flame,
The same old ritual,
The yoghurt had soured.
Heavy with shopping, jacket creased,
He arrived with parsley and oregano,
Fat tomatoes, swollen gourds,
Tins of muffled chickpeas,
Good produce but no sanitary towels.
For him I drew the Four of Cups.
My blood attracts a stray,
A ginger tom who broke a milk bottle,
The Silent Stranger -
Or The Necromancer.
Claire will call later with rock buns.
A new card, unseen, good fortune:
I finger it, reluctant to turn.
My pain is precious, overpowering logic,
Dreadful essence of the unexplained.
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