The Magician – Card 01 – Tarot
A fool is buried on my property. He was here
when I moved in – an elder servant, perhaps.
I never asked. He bumped around harmlessly
in the library for years, sifting through
yellowed papers while aging till he expired
quietly, alone, and with no drama at all.
To my surprise, ashes arose from the fireplace
in response to his passing. Of their own volition,
motes coalesced into mourning coyotes.
They dragged his corpse to a rowan grove
and reverently buried it under mud and trampled wild oats.
I didn’t even know his name. The lack of it rattled me
so I launched brazen golems toward heaven’s halls
on a mission to pry it from the hypothetical inhabitants.
My probes came home laden with forbidden books,
aromatherapy candles, and four grateful maidens,
all stolen from deities far too fat to do more than call
a few thunderstorms to protest blasphemous theft.
The fool’s name was nowhere but the books brimmed
with scandalous enchantments and raunchy stories
about gods misbehaving in their youth. I loosed the spells
from the pages, all at once, just to see what would happen.
My belt writhed as the buckle bit me with new-found fangs.
One maiden morphed into a sword, one to a cup, one to a coin,
the last to a slender branch, each according to her nature.
The staff of the fool twisted then bloomed in a riot
of unruly roses and lilies.
To this day, the mess won’t stay sorted. Metaphors
scurry through the halls plotting nuanced mischief,
symbolic flowers persistently shed petals on my desk,
and a lemniscate is trying to hatch a black hole in the cupboard.
It seems unless I can name the fool, my room will remain chaotic.
July 3, 2016