I summon my mother in the shuffle of cards
see aces whisper through her hands
like the prayers we said before slipping off to sleep.
My mother’s shuffle was slick –
She never dropped a card
mixed them with a flick of her wrist
I want to conjure her touch as I spread
the tarot before me but the cards tangle
like the cross she chained to my neck
when I was confirmed and found myself lost
in a white-wash cleansing of rosary chants
then set adrift in the grievances of the young.
Now I am as old as she was
when she let go of bitter regret
and I miss the song of her laughter
and the exuberance of her dance.
How I wish for the warmth of her kiss
and long to hear her voice
which I sought to find in the cards
but heard only heaven and earth collide
with the scream of my plane touching down.
