lounge in his dim study. At last shuffling
and dealing old Tarot cards, he wheezes
a whisper: “Turn one over.” I’m scuffling
with myself to choose. He smoothly eases
one toward me, watching my eyes. I flip it:
a naked young woman rides a seven-
headed lion. “Lust.” The murmured snippet
rises from behind me. It’s Freud. “Heavens
no,” Jung snaps back. “The card symbolizes
courage, inner strength. See the Holy Grail?”
“Oedipus complex,” Sigmund grunts, rises,
stalks from the room. “He does this without fail,”
Carl sighs. He checks his watch, lifts his teacup.
“I’d cite deeper meanings, but your hour’s up.”
Roger Armbrust
June 5, 2007
