by Jeffrey Park
Fortune Teller, reveal to me all my futures.
Will I meet someone nice, will she be
tall and dark and handsome? Will she hurt
me or will she lift me up and carry me on her
shoulder over vast and unseen landscapes –
Or will she leave me to perish or worse,
to live on and pour out my spirit bit by bit
in an endless seeking for revenge – Will there
be fame? Fortune? Ill gotten or deserved?
Show me the precise place on the path
where I must set my foot, the days on which
I need to wake up early to catch that inspired
sunrise. Take me to the wide window where
I will see it all spread out before me like
a shimmering field of grain; with your fingers
on my back spell out the names I should
call myself, the spot where I should pitch
my tent. Give me assurance, sure knowledge
that my horses will win the race on that
morning, my chickens will all come home
to roost. Tell me all, leave nothing out. Put it
down on paper, tuck it in an envelope
and slide it under my pillow tonight, stamped
confidential, sealed with a clairvoyant kiss.
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