They came from below, out of season and out of time. They split through concrete and brick and bridges and made the air a thickly scented haze of soft pollen. The ones who survived the deadly assault on the human immune system woke to find the world already mourning the ones who hadn’t. Bouquets hung like rope from every broken skyscraper.

Next came the monsters.

Oh, they were beautiful too. Closer to angels than elves, with the sunlight passing through their translucent skin to show off the perfect bone and muscle within. High cheekbones, iridescent wings, and tongues coiled like whips to drink the nectar from the flowers. They came like an army, and the ones who died then were lucky.

Then came the change.

The stars realigned. Earth toppled into an impossible orbit that meant endless spring, endless Eden. The monsters sang legends into the world: griffons, unicorns, basilisks. And those who remained, hiding from the naked beauty outside in ruined basements and bunkers, woke to find their limbs heavy and scaled. When they screamed, sparks lit from deep inside a second throat and the sight of their fire stirred the sudden, desperate desire for gold.

And magic ruled the world.

Tiredly, I play Death.
It weeps rust as it settles:
coating our hair
drawing ash over ruins
of the old world sleeping.
We sit deep in its bowels,
using its legs as a table.

My sister tosses The Hierophant.
The card flutters face down – too late.
Far too late. In seconds it is gone.
She pays its skeleton no attention.
Our last sister throws down The Queen.

The old world groans.
It sags under the weight
of dresses and wood,
rotten to the core.
And inside, feeding,
The stains of last days and dead regrets,
Lit only by radiation.

“It’s been too long,” I reflect.
Too long, yes. Time, like chewing pips,
and spitting out the bitter seeds,
has shrunk while watching television,
or holograms in the Veldt.

“So where shall we three meet again?”
“Screw the lightning,” my sister says.
Irritation crabs her voice.
“I’m too old for that shit. Let’s do sun.”
Yes, sunlight and the taste of rain:
I lick my lips. “Okay.”

I play The Tower,
She meets with The Lovers,
Our last sister slams down The Hanged Man.

And everything changes.
Turned around, upside down,
a glimpse of bloody birth,
like raw liver glistening in the dark.

One last card left.
I lay down The World:
And then there is light.