Pray make me as commanding—in a yolk-gold gown cinched at the waist, turbaned hat, cigar mouthed like Che Guevara. Ochún, Santera de Los Rios— make me as seductive and sensuous, generously granting conceptions, my female organs supple but tucked in tight. Lend me your talent for divination: reading cowry shell patterns tossed upon the mat, lend me strategies for cleansing: a white ginger lily bath, a jasmine douche. Queen Yalorde, sunflower Orichá, the sacred water in your cells turns from shade into the light. You cannot have always been blooming, even you must own some melancholy. If I place honey on your altar, the yellow porcelain sopera filled with river water and read properly your juju hoodoo cowry shells, will you hold my tart heart in your palms?
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 20, Issue 1.
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