Fortune Telling. Why.

oh yes
I quite meant to Hurt.

see once
when I was young
they took all
the town
children to a fortune teller. they told us he was a Priest and we would find
predestination upwards be the poetic spider web instead of the
nicked blade. we listened we were. young.
and
it was my turn. a man in silk stood over a cup of tea a light cup of perfect tea
mother's tea father's
German tea. and he had a shadow of smoke that
he had forgotten to shave that morning,

and he asked

"little Marlena do you stand so near yourself because you are uncertain that you are not afraid?"

I was young and God knew my name.

"you shall be Hurt."

that
was what the silken man
murmured. he sipped his tea. it smelled
suddenly
of brandy and it was sharp. being hit smack in the eye with a dulled knife. an edge of some

sort

so stand
wrapped in
your woolen
wrap that
they have given you.

you are bloodied.

the mirrors are birds that nested dark and bloomed along the silent walkway where I met you standing

"hello. I have never been afraid"

when
the others left for home they having
seen hot coffee or decaffeinated unsweetened seltzer
all
smelling of brandy shrugged bracelets and wiry smoke from their hands. I stood.

God knew
my name.

that is something.