Elegua,
they said you wouldn’t follow me here.
Not out amongst the ice giants, at least.
You’re never cold; if anything, too hot.

But I forgot that you are the connection
between heaven and earth; well,
the only heaven I know is in the stars,
and I fought like heck to join this mission.

They said we could bring our religious imagery:
Ruslan and his big cross — everybody makes
a dirty joke — Simla and her Durga,
a warrior goddess who rides a tiger.

And so I brought Elegua — small stone head,
hard to break, easy to pack. I knew, though,
that I couldn’t offer him cigars, so he gets
a shot of Ruslan’s vodka on Mondays.

Then we found the ice giant:
blue as Yemaya’s skirts, unstable,
wobbling drunk on its axis
made out of formerly — now frozen — hot air.

As fond as I was of Pluto,
I knew we had to let it go. Mini-planets
just too common here. But Planet 9?
Sounds like a bad old movie, yet it’s real.

Looking black as half of Elegua’s hat
it did at first to our delicate,
pressure-sensitive eyes — it loomed
into view, a giant gumball, like the ones

Elegua Laroye wants as offerings.
As for “Perturber”; “Phattie”;
whatever you want to call it, I
will always think of Planet 9 as Elegua,

cosmic trickster, surpriser of spacecraft
like the one you’ve found drifting just now:
Thank what gods may be that we could make
repairs, wait for you, our saviors.

But then Elegua also opens roads
and we are on the best one ever:
Let’s just try to plan next time
for these surprises now and then.

[Denise Dumars is a widely published author of poetry, short fiction, and metaphysical nonfiction. She has traveled widely in Mexico and recommends visiting Mercado Sonora in Mexico City, which is probably the largest magickal marketplace in North America. She is a Heirophant in the Fellowship of Isis and helms the Lyceum of Auset Hauhet in Redondo Beach, CA.]