My name is Paudrigotuma and for a number of years I've had tarot cards. I don't use them too often just every now and then dealing with the left hand I was told and I read up a little bit about them when I deal them out and allow myself just to free associate with them and partly I am curious to know what the historical interpretation is but mostly I'm

I'm interested to know what my association is.

I bring all kinds of parts of myself,

my own culture and my interest in language

and whatever ways the images suggest themselves to me is the conversation that ultimately I'm having with myself in the face of these cards.

It took me a long time to get over the feeling that I was doing it wrong because mostly I think

that its invitation is to do it in a way that is a conversation back. Roll Call, new terror names for black girls by Amber McBride.

Call us something lovely, mischief changing robes, call us hardened honey's brownness on the tip of the tasting spoon, brown hands cradling inherited softness or head cook in a country

church hymning, his cold darling, come inside, make a cream-colored Sam of me. Call me gospel. I don't

mind harbouring millions of maybes at once.

Call us steak knife to clean meat from between teeth or steak knife to skin

pray. Pray we don't snare you. Cornbread crafted from

spoiled milk or nickel-necked knuckles, fault lines, haunting thighs, crimson eggs nesting in weight between breasts.

Been called liars and midnight's evil twins, deceits blossom like fungi, Black girl will hatch a long red snake

thing, a bloody cord that strangles on command.

Black girl will sin with anything with half a heartbeat,

even a dis-ease.

That's fine honey.

Call us pestilence's hands, slowly edging Atlas,

the reason he begs and drops it all.

Call us, end of days or pretty despite the blackness.

Come into my soft coffin, my mouth buzzing flies,

...