by Natalie Morales

I try to explain to the bank
my reason for overdrafting
out of an account
void of all monetary symbols except
the eternal snake
eating its own tail,
devourer of the self.

No, this is not a zero,
I tell Michelle The Bank Lady,
but a symbol of regeneration,
a phoenix rising from the ashes
of a fire set by sad, moon-faced maidens.

No, this is not a zero,
but a region where male meets female
and becomes neither and both,
a space occupied by Pluto,
a powerful vibration,
Earthlings have yet to unlock
one of karma and logic
and forgotten rainbows and love.

This zero is actually a blood red moon,
your feminine third eye,
a half-dreamed forbidden fruit,
and a temporary sigh,
n’est-ce pas?

I tell her all this,
and she says no,
she can’t refund my money on
account of rainbows.


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