Folded in half and a thousand miles away

My inexact, inaccurate, imperfect twin

And as I try to make our houses close

So he’d scuttle about to run away

When christmas rolls, he’d send a coal

And a piece of burnt gold and humus

He never shows his face, except when at night

I dip my pen in ink and write

His face is outside my window, mouth contorted

His hand overwrites mine, inked in purple blood

My trash’d be full, he’d empty it for me

Burn all of them in my backyard

And ease a word, of length, of brevity

Slapping me into my writer’s integrity



Two of Cups from the Rider-Waite Tarot deck


THIS IS THE TAROT CHALLENGE, a 78-day writing challenge where everyday I pick out a random card from my tarot deck and write something about, against, inspired by, based on the card by the day’s end. The works can range from poetry to fiction to drama. When the card is from the major arcana, the title of the work should be the card name. When the card is from the minor arcana, the title can be different but the card drawn should be revealed at the end.