September 12th
We sat, wrestled paper with markers and scissors and
held our own small fates,
in a homemade deck of spell-casting cards,
drawn perfect from memory —
deadly nightshades, unicorn horns,
black cats and a single prince.
We shuffled the pack and dealt them.
O blood
O poison
O limbs turned to fins,
skin hollowed and burned
and metal like tin.
O dust, O crust and
brain, O paper cuts,
O man-made fire and man-made rain.
We prayed to the silence around us,
with hex and hymn and jinx,
not witches, just kids.
It was game we never played again.
Defunct Magazine. Issue 10. Spring 2022.
