faulteers

[faulteers]

Printer Paper Locket

By francis (faulteers); an object poem, topic: my locket

Sometimes, people ask me what’s inside 

Of the locket hovering about my heart

and I smile 

and pry open old clasp like rusty doors 

to a house the size of a ritz cracker 

Inside: 

Four water-stained printer paper photos. 

1. A tortie cat looking upstairs. 

she was my mom’s “first baby”, gone too soon at twenty. 

Her orange face a tell-tale sign 

from her twin, her other half. Orange and black, black and orange 

my sweet baby, I miss you... Neewollah 

2. Neo’s twin staring dead into the camera. 

This picture is old, she is thinner now... 

Twenty-one years does that to a cat. 

she purrs so loud when I come home 

I cry, Pumpkin 

3. Black border collie with soft brown eyes. 

She used to spring but now she sleeps by my side 

on the couch (she likes to watch The Office) 

her favorite food is popcorn, crazy baby, my Boomer. 

4. Something mixed with something else 

sweet dog, little hunter 

we don’t know your story, my precious girl, but you've been through so much- 

you are adored. 

She likes to lick my hand when I am not looking, my scrunkly dog, Shandy. 

I love them, my girls, my babies, my adored. 

Three at home and one in heaven 

my good luck charm, an outfit staple 

my locket, 4.99, priceless because of printer paper. 

[faulteers]

a Tarot Reader tells me my future

by francis (faulteers); a prose poem

Three cards sit in front of me: Present, past and future. The Tarot Reader sits in front of me, silently. I can't see their eyes. Or maybe I can. I am too nervous to look up.  

Patchouli and lavender incense smoke fill my lungs. I cough. There is a rasping voice that emanates from the figure of the Tarot Reader. It sounds like dried leaves in October, and the creak of a door not meant to be opened.  

Present: power lines and street signs, but not a connection between the two. A space with twinkling stars and blue grey sky. Two hands, like hot coals, grazing past your face as they fly by. There is a mention of a mom, not your mom, but the figure is too vague to understand. 

Past: a broken bracelet with your high school’s colors, the smell of gym dodgeballs, salt, a place that you used to sleep but don’t anymore. Do you remember the girl that you used to eat lunch with in elementary school? She thinks about you sometimes. She still thinks of you when she takes long walks when she smells the sickly-sweet honeysuckle at the edge of her yard in July. You should call her. Do you still have her number? What happened between you two?   

Future: the Tarot Reader flips the card over before I can see it.