Ten of Wands (Reversed)

instructions for use
by Kelsey Dean

peel back that blue rind of sky. it’s time.
feed it to the bear that slumbers.
that heavy crescent around your heart.
when was the last time your chest
was free to rumble, unencumbered?

don’t try to train the beast. it only hibernates
in the warm dark or lives in wide-open
colour, as it should. all you can do is slip
your fingers behind the clouds and tug
at that succulent vista, palm offerings

of segments, of seeds, a pith, some marrow.
tempt that bear of yours outward, promise
full-bodied sky and a ripe stretch of
horizon. feel it stir, uncurl, unfurl its red tongue
to lick that open sunrise, to leave you

air-filled and standing in a wake of footprints.

Kelsey Dean (she/her) lives in Michigan with her partner and her canine sidekick. Lately, she’s been playing Scrabble, trying to write, and doodling a whole lot. You can find some more of her poetry in Liminal Stories, Cicada, Wizards in Space, Gigantic Sequins, and a variety of other literary journals.