nine of wands

I met Lady Justice on a highway overpass. My car had broken down and she was on the lam. She planted her feet wide, ready for action. Her robe was transparent and her body sublime. I rocked back and forth on my heels, to let her know I meant no harm.

“Please,” I said, “Take off your blindfold. I know who you are; I want to see you with your eyes uncovered.” “This isn’t a blindfold,” she said, “It’s a bandage, sometimes a disguise.” The cars drove past underneath us. I told her my story. She said, “I don’t grant wishes.”

Lady Justice cannot love mortals. She sees through walls and can work complicated equations without a single machine. When I stopped trying to woo her, she held out her hand. Into it I cried several human tears. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a green glass marble. “Plant this,” she said, “at your next stop, and wait for forgiveness to grow.”