believing what the guru told me
in the stark, sun-streaked
dining room
of my khaleh's white
house in malibu
i don't know if i believe it now
two februaries ago, i
sat across from a toothless man
i did not exactly trust and
let him read
my palm
he quickly noticed
the nine-year old
scar, raised and white,
as i rushed to describe
the dull mandoline, the
fennel bulb
he traced his withered fingertip
over my hand as he told me
what
my future holds.
everything he said was powerful
beautiful
and full of hope
it was everything
i'd hoped a soothsayer
might tell me one day
but all i could do when he
was done
was go downstairs
and cry.
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