by Frances Hatfield

I tried not
to know
when I pulled
the Hanged Man
out of the deck,

but later,
when you said
the words that
splayed me open
like a fish

and laid me out—
not unkindly—
on the salty

each fragile arch
of rib bereft
of succouring

I knew then
I was going down
again, that all
the other times
gave me no

but only
in surrender,
a snake fetish
in my pocket,
a Chinese fortune that says
When one dies,
Another resurrects

that I am
not only this,
that even now

I am making
my way to you
from very far away,

a mendicant
drawn by news
of a feast.

(from Parabola Magazine)

About Frances Hatfield

Frances Hatfield is an advanced candidate at the C. G. Jung Institute in San Francisco. Her work has been published in Parabola, Quarry West, the Monterey Bay Anthology of Poetry, and Numinous. Her first book of poems, Rudiments of Flight, came out in October, 2012 from Wings Press. Correspondence: 340 Soquel Ave., Suite 104, Santa Cruz, CA 95060.

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