S H O E S S P E L L
The A, the E, the I, the O, the U
Mirrors dissolving on my tongue,
Eclipsing my breath.
I AM . . . dot dot
A pot of luck
Next to my best shoes on my altar.
Is it tonight I sink that boat
Of my last judgment?
‘Not I’, said I, ‘will live with ghosts,
The ghosts of language,
The ghosts of what dictates I am a queen of something.
My shoes know better when they retrace my steps to the young pauper,
It was my nothing that got the better of you.
I will find you, if I must,
At the bottomless sea where I put you.
Tonight I place my black shoes on my altar,
To venerate the stories that they tell,
While my naked toes sink into lust,
And the telluric forces of what must
© Camelia Elias
M O R E S P E L L S ? S T A Y I N T H E L O O P.