Poetry: blest by Monique Quintana

ouiji
blest

When I was seven, I hid in the slow seeds of the hallway and conjured you,

halfway in my book of demons, a Ouija board, another alphabet, another number, my future in

seven years.

The lampshade melted, became candlewax, red for power, then black for protection,

and when I found you in the in-between, we couldn’t speak,

so I crushed sage smoke petals in my fingers tips and touched them to my eyes, saw the nether side of skull and knees, writing letters on the veins of leaves you never read, yet wrapped carefully

in prayer paper.  You wrote

adulterous

woman.

Now, the only thing to teach me is how to betray my body.

Tell me how I can debase the Holy, when only I can burn us

clean away.

****

Monique Quintana is the Editor-in-Chief of the blogazine, Razorhouse and is a contributing Fashion & Beauty Editor for Luna Luna Magazine. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Huizache, Bordersenses, and The Acentos Review, among others. She is a Pocha/Chicana feminist bruja writing and teaching english in California’s Central Valley.

Image found on Pinterest with link to the Etsy Shop.

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