A fortune teller sits at my gate
She wants to read my palm
I want her to go away
Instead I pay her my sous
I sit in the grass
her low table between us
A breeze curls round the tree limbs,
plays with the silver-lined threads of her sash
Her coal black rimmed eyes will not meet mine
but her hands hold mine
Smoothly, like a honeyed drink
She pours my life out on the grass.
“Your childhood was very lonely”
Her voice, as deep as a man’s,
has inserted its syringe deep in an artery of my soul
and is beginning to draw.
Drugged, I wish to beg for mercy, but say nothing.
I watch the silver sash trim dance as
the grass turns red.
“There is a complete lack of love in your childhood.
Here, suddenly, are many people.
I will not nod ascension.
I will give her nothing.
“This time is riddled with pain…yet there is friendship,
some friendship……much pain.”
The earth beneath me is beginning to feel damp,
soaked as it is with my lifeblood.
“And a sudden marriage.”
Say it, we both know.
“You find happiness in this new solitude.”
Was it happiness? Is that what
it was? Is happiness
merely the absence of pain?
I’ve lost faith in my fortune teller.
The grass has begun to turn yellow again. The
breeze is dead.
“Let’s see. Two children. One
died an infant. The other…I see”
No, she won’t get off that easy.
“You see what.”
Her eyes, surprisingly amber,
“You failed to love your son.”
Limitless, I built you
A wandering sage for your echo
Reminder, you have been
a stone hut in a prehistoric cult
Look what you’ve become,
Your ruby mouth
Your die-black hair
Your perfumed limbs
Your garbage underpants
Your crude injections
Your silicone tits
and your envious eyes.
Tower, my humanity
Or tumble, as people, pretty marbles to the sea.