Decorative Cult

Christine Bettis

Under lumps of fake green grapes
Synthetic and totally moony
Slapping a little black on the lavender
after a night raid

I quarry a crystal ball from the bedroom vanity
An underground oracle, an orchid woman
I ask her about moms, about money problems
The violent capabilities doctors
How to be safe in my own body

I’ll yellow my suspended crystallized heart
I’ll baby sweet blue blades
Dye my thrownness with chlorophyll and burn
into the next life