i don't know when i started 
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
my future holds.  

everything he said was powerful
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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