The augurer blanched
and said I’d be beaten
with sticks and pipes,
and I’d be hated.
We finished our breakfast
talking about the weather,
and politics, religion
and art.
I had a good appetite.
The prophetess,
meaning to rebuke me –
adding to her words
the Holy Ghost’s
imprimatur –
stopped short,
chastened, and said
I was a chosen vessel,
greatly loved.
The tea tasted like dirt that day.
I saw a future of my own:
reckless recluse, old, alone –
feared, but not unkind.
All instantly I felt that future,
its substance, its taste,
even its smell.
And I was a little
afraid.
It’s alarming the number
of people claiming to know
who I will be, where I will go,
what I will do, and why.
It’s alarming the number
of people claiming the right
to disappointment.
they truly are scary!