The Characters in a Tarot Card

The hounds peel open their jaws in the foothills;

These drought-fissured Badlands teeming

With veins.        They smell the blood. Dig up the bones.

Munch on burial ground as though cremation

 

Could circle through their throats like communion wine.

This desert is an age-wisened womb that breeds

Mountains like Earth-staked monuments beneath

The wrong face in the sun:      Crescent body smudging

 

Shadow across its cheeks like smoke damage.

The city that broke the wall. The two pillars

Left to plot the dust like gravel. Left like gates.

Opening to ground        where Something might grow; 

 

The underside of the moon propped

Up like a baby’s spine:


spitting up its roots.

Katie Hogan is a twenty year old emerging poet from Richmond, Virginia, pursuing a degree in creative writing as a second-year student at the University of Denver.

©2018 HighShelfPress. 

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