Miss Justine suggests I take
two glasses of wine—one for each hand
on the threshold of day, of season.
The spider has nested and the chestnut
drops its hollow currency to the ground
to await its fate: food, or fodder
for next year’s tree, or a darker limbo—
the squirrel’s cool, dry pantry beneath my shoes.
Miss Justine prods a toe—Good peasant feet, good for balance. For dancing? For walking the fields. To the west, corn glows
in the nuclear light of a dying sun.
In the east the full moon
breaks like an egg over the river.
Miss Justine grins. Keep steady. Now walk.
If you want to read more Tarot-rific poetry from the dancing girl writers, now is your chance. A subscription to dancing girl press will bring both chapbooks and the coveted Tarot deck to your mailbox. It promises to be gorgeous, both in pictures and words, so don't wait. Subscribe today!