Catherine Fahey: Solace of the Moon
Photo: Joanna C. Valente

Photo: Joanna C. Valente

Four of Swords

Unpin my hair, scrape off

layers of makeup that stayed

through eating and sweating. 

Count the hairpins: nowhere

near the record of 67, set

at my best friend’s wedding. 

Slip off shoes, peel off

stockings and Spanx, let

stomach and thighs expand. 

Unzip my dress, unhook

my bra. Unwind the green silk

scarf from around my neck. 

Lift my head off my shoulders,

Lay my body down.

Eight of Cups

I don’t know why I’m crying, whether it’s

for me or us or the onions. The TV

plays a never-ending Law and Order

marathon, and the washing machine is

spinning, spinning.  I wrap my expectations

in silk, tied with ivy, bandaged with yew.

That parcel sits on the table, next to

the thawing steak, the patient vegetables.

I’m chopping and crying, harder now - I’ve

cut my fingers, leaving a trail of blood

through the kitchen. All I need is my phone,

passport and purse. All that’s left is to leave

the keys in the lock, ghost through the door, and

turn my face to the solace of the moon.

Editor’s Note: These poems are part of our collection, Haunted: Tarot Poems

Catherine Fahey is a poet and librarian from Salem, Massachusetts. When she’s not reading and writing, she’s knitting or dancing. You can read more of her work at