Listening
If only I had
stopped listening to all of you
years ago
I would have such a hoard of verses
if I had ignored
your requests for privacy
and just kept writing a multitude
of poems about you.
I flip over
the Tarot cards with your faces
and laugh with
recognition and delight
here are all the friends I have
loved and hated
and combatted
and drawn and quartered
myself for
and sacrificed myself
on the altar of.
My dear comrades
of course you mean
the World to me, the Sun
the burning Star
and the Magician who manifests
my desires by
bridging heaven and earth
over and over
for me alone.
I promise to
never again pay attention
when you say these poems
cut too deep under the skin
that there is too much tearing off
of clothing and masks
too much of rage and exaltation
of gripping tight and abandonment
instead I will say, “Good, good,
all of those things
are what I have been seeking.”
The Magician by Pamela Coleman Smith and Arthur Edward Waite
