The tortilla moon
gave me permission
to tell you this.
Gave me permission
to say
that you are whole
within yourself.
Reminded me to mention
the moonshined-cherry blood
that keeps you alive.
The spiced tongue
that keeps you awake.
It told me to say
that you are a home
within yourself.
And that home is warm
and delicious.
It’s been there.
It asks that you savor it,
fold into it,
add onto it,
and you will.
Or, at least that’s what you say
to the mirror on the table.
