A Reading

The Moon

“It’s the primal thing we share with the dog and the wolf: something is coming and it isn’t good”

This feeling won’t leave me. Fear, in this way, has finally found me. The stolen brushes of skin. Wandering finger tips exploring topical maps of loved ones, of strangers. Of strangers I wish to love. How was that possible months ago? Lust has turned to revulsion, to fear. I never thought the idea of touch would become scarier than my fear of being locked in place.

Temperance

“There is balance. We just have to stop and look around to find it”

Breathing is easier. I step outside and smell the pine, even though there are none within sight. My home state is known for being windy, but I never realized how far scent could travel when unmarked. It travels, once again unburdened by our cuffs of emissions. “You’d never believe how beautiful the skyline is from Grifith” my brother texts me. But the photo makes me gasp. For the first time in decades you can see the sharp skyscrapers, the cloud of sick smog gone. I take a deep breath, and I hope my brother can too. When he first left for LA I could only remember the minutes that ticked by, watching him from outside the bathroom as my mom treated him with the nebulizer. How his nails would curl under the lip of the counter, trying to breathe. The memory seems hazier now. The anxiety stilling in my chest.

The Tower

“you’ve built up this life, this tower, piece by piece….Then out of nowhere the universe reaches down, grabs your little snow globe of a life, and shakes the hell out of it. Now what?”

I’ve been told to stop wearing my backpack and to hold my nightstick out. Better to be threatening if you want to walk. I can’t imagine leaving my notebooks at home, my small luxury. I try not to make eye contact with the people in the tent cities, but I shiver wondering how cold it is at night. Minnesota winters are notoriously brutal. My hands itch against the cotton of my gloves, chapped from the cold. I cross my eyes for a second, letting the muted colors of the tents blur together, but the imagery is still depressing. These are the faces I pass every day. People I passed on the street months ago without a thought. People who lived and worked in their own world, until that fell apart. ‘That could’ve been me.’ My eyes focus, I push my shoulders back and regrip my nightstick. I know the threat is real out here. People get desperate when you can’t afford to eat.

The Empress

“People tend to get more prolific with their lives… She is the nurturer and the protector. The romantic and the lover.”

When the neon green lidded teenager hands me my ticket I feel an almost manic laughter bubble up. A small burble comes out before I contain it enough to say “$4 for a ticket. Gabs, what year is it?” “2021” she’s annoyed, but she’s smiling too. “And tickets are one quarty the price.” “When will you get used to it? It’s been months.” and it has. As time has moved forward, it feels like, in small ways, the clock has turned back. “I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” she considers me, then with a grin says, “keep waiting.”

All excerpts from Kitchen Table Tarot by Melissa Cynova, a wonderful jumping off point if you are interested in learning about tarot and tarot readings.

With love and a pinch of magic,
Nikita

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