Nine of Swords

Pulled the nine of swords from a witchy lady

draped in an olive-green frock,

silver bangles swishing from

her muscular forearms when she shuffles the deck

with her tidy coffin shaped

French-tip acrylics

sitting in the back-room study surrounded by houseplants.

My question:

How do I get unstuck?

I’m Morticia and I play with my glossy Black wig,

tangling it between

sweaty fingers. Clove smelling incense smoke

tendrils between me and the screen

recording our session. Morticia is

unflinching. But

I don’t have lines & was never

good at improv.

We are at a Halloween house party with

topless bartenders and a

live DJ set-up in the courtyard by

a pool filled with black balloons. Every piece of art or photograph

converted eerie,

life-size mannequins covered in fake

gore standing vacantly in each corner. I hold onto a stick of

Selenite on her table &

sip an orange Aperol spritz.

Baby, where are you stuck?

Creepy club music blaring in the background.

I’m not sure exactly. I blindly re-apply

dark plum lipstick,

take another sip out of the clear plastic cup and

stain the rim. The spritz has a

vinegary aftertaste.

The sleek phone

sits menacingly in its glittery stand

glaring at me for

answers. You can’t fall out of

character if you were never

in. I shift in the

rigidly padded library chair.

The nine of swords is the “nightmare” card

but apparently,

it’s just your own mind.

The illustration is a

a ghostly female form clasping her

arms around her knees. She is

surrounded by dusky sky

constellations and nine, floating

ornamental swords that might

pierce her whole.

There is a line of

probably impatient masqueraders

forming out the study door to see the

witchy lady while

I give ephemeral

answers—still

gripping the transparent but scuffed

crystal. The clove fume

layers onto my viscous mascara & I

blink hard.

She tells me

to wear sunstone or citrine for

levity. Avoid obsidian as I am shrouded

in layers of shadowy fabric. She

turns off the video and,

I stop

spinning my hair. She

gives me the card to

take home.

Later,

I will reverse the card & pin it

to a cork board above my

antique desk.

The upside

down “nightmare” morphing

into a reckoning of

innermost reality.

I thank the witchy lady & scan a

QR code to send a tip. I pray

she finds me dull & deletes the

recording.

So much for

brave.

The music

snaps back into

sharp, roaring lucidity and

I return to the

party.