Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

the drowned man

by Kimberly Povloski


i picked the tarot from your teeth
              left a shred of moon to rot
fang to thistle–thistle as in milk, as in
the opalescent sleep our mothers swallowed like tea

the taste was mossed
and bitter as the pewter heart of a bird
hushed among firs


these are perils to believe in