Reading

By Tamara G. Saliva

I sat on a wooden box, watched her light the cigar held between white teeth.
Her lips pink, soft, released clouds of smoke as she shuffled cards.
Bubbles rose in the glass of water next to the candle with the dancing flame.
               Bangles on each wrist clanked like bells.

She placed the cards in my hand-
“Ask your questions. Think your thoughts, hand them back when you are done”
She laid three stacks before me-        Past        Present        Future
“Many walk with you.           Do you know who they are?”           -I don't.

She collected flipped cards. The hair on her knuckles rose. Tapping the cigar,
ashes gently landing in an ashtray, she reveales-“A man stands here, in blue
jeans and a white shirt. He says he is your father. Promises to give you in spirit
what he could not in life.”

               She is oracle. Head covered and body draped in white.
Never ending strings of colorful beads hung from her neck.

The cards- continued to spread them. There were coins and men and clubs and
a woman. Clouds of cigar smoke filling the air. She hummed a melody I have
only heard in my sleep. “Aquí hay una Negra y dice ella que tu no la conoces,
but you will because she removed you from people, places and things that
would have ended your life. She saved you from yourself.”

                     The candle flame stood still. I could hear drums in the distance.
     My eyes felt closed but were open.
“Pero aquí llegó un Indio de pluma. Viene a decir que, aunque no nos
conoces a todos, siempre hemos estado ahí. Pendiente.”

A new card- “Porque contigo, I need to give facts. Hubo un momento en que tu
no creías ni en Dios, ni en ti misma. There was a night when your gut told you-
light a white candle, fill a glass of water, refuse someone's cooking. The night
you passed out beneath the full moon after midnight on a corner, they brought
you home. Unharmed. They want you to know, it was always them. They are
always there.”

           Consejos- She held the cigar, almost chewing it, between her teeth.
           Her face changed. She was someone else and herself.
           Felt the hair on my ears rise.
“Hay que desarrollar tus espíritus. Vas a levantar una bóveda, te vas a dar un
baño de flores blancas por siete días, vas a orar y pedir que te enseñen. Los
muertos tuyos son de mesa blanca. Tienes que atenderlos. Ellos te trajeron aquí.”

Heart thumping, I collected visuals of moving feet, sounds of rattles and
crashing waves.       "Your journey starts again. It begins now.
               You are responsible for the information you have received.”