In the middle of winter, after a month of unraveling
and wanting to turn to ice, I prayed to Xochiquetzal;
I was willing to be a sacrifice—have my heart
carved out with her obsidian knife.
I placed marigolds, bright blue, teal and scarlet feathers
on the altar. She came in the dead of the night;
my home became a sweltering jungle—
plumeria blossoms bursting out of their jars,
Monstera Adasonii and golden pothos unfurling
out of their pots, climbing up the walls.
She crawled into my bed—smelling of cinnamon
and vanilla. Her rich coppery brown skin soft
and warm as she pulled me to her. I felt safe
in her embrace as she kissed my forehead
and pulled out her knife. She whispered—
lulling me into reverie: You are chingona,
This will not crush you—it will not bury you.
You have already talked with women
who know pain; you pay homage to Frida
daily. I will cut away the pieces he has
damaged, and fill them with silver and jade.
Marisa is a poet, bruja, spirit companion, and contributing writer for Pussy Magic. Growing up in the Southwest influenced her magickal practices, and she considers herself a kitchen witch. In her free time, she enjoys reading about the Fae Folk, scandals in Old Hollywood, and the spirits of the sea. She is obsessed with kitschy motels in the desert, mermaids, vampires, and pinups. In her twenties she attended UEA in England, and misses being able to sit in pubs, people watch, and write. You can find her on Instagram, Tumblr, and Twitter @thesweetmaris.