Lené Gary
Inspiration piece
Tarot-Berry
By Jenny Forrester
Response
We’re all blueberries in time. We see we’re in bunches, hands reaching toward us…
We forget the lack of our being vast when we’re hanging in bunches and shadow and light. We’re supposed to want to be bluest or juiciest or highest or lowest or fastest or slowest to ripen.
I’m one of the first or last to fall. I can’t remember now. It’s all a soft blur, but I know I visited the tarot-berry on my way down.
She pulled The Father of Pentacles and started to explain, but the star in front of me was coming faster than light, as is the custom with stars. I grew rainbow antlers to precede me, hoping for the best.
I turned to The Fool dropping beside me, balanced and gripping some blossom. She was a gosling, quivering.
“I’ve never seen that blossom here before,” I said.
The Fool quacked, “Me neither. I’m glad to see it now.”
As we lay on the ground, a mother deer and her fawn, dappled and new, came by, a star shining above, and the last thing I sensed was her soft muzzle. I was grateful for teeth in the end.
We’re all blueberries in time. We forget the lack of our being vast when we’re laying in bunches and mud. Instead of feeling I failed at being bluest or fastest or lowest, I’m content to decompose, reborn from the seed in this darkness.
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