My sister Julietta’s altar. I run with witch doctors, high priestesses, shamans, and alchemists.

“May you never know the lonely bed of wasted time. May you never see the universe’s end. May you never know killed bodies in the street. May you never again lay awaiting discovery. May you never know what it means to be found. May you be protected from false prophets offering to raise you from your deathbed. We have seen false magic at work, and the white man’s magic at work, and the magic of jealous young girls. May you never know false magic—magic that pretends. magic that does not groom or heal. magic that feels good on the tongue, but is void. Magic that has no knowledge of impossible or between lives. Magic that is not firm or ripe or whole. May you be protected. May you be the firmament. May you never be mistaken for the burning bush. May those who love you never worship you. May distant daughters bring you fruit and afternoon stories.  May you always know the rain forest as wet. May other earths welcome you. May you be protected when my hands & heart & tongue are not enough. May you only know a full belly & may you only know many lovers.”
- “A Mothers Prayer” by Kima Jones

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