escaping the storm

half-leaning he held the palm
of my left hand,
and with a mock frown
peered into the zigzagging lines
crossing over the hills and valleys


the life line
the love line,

“there will be no children,
at least none that I can see,”
I know a joke
when I hear one,

the rain had stopped beating
on the roof,
I shifted in my chair
crossed and uncrossed my legs,
fiddling with a stray thread
on the hem of my yellow cotton skirt,
nervously chewing my lips.

unsuccessful in the human cacophony
of artifice,
I might have been
an ant or a bird in my past life,

who cares?
some of us are better off
on this side of the street.

I laughed
and said good bye,

pretending the tea had not been
so bitter
and the porcelain cup
an ugly red.


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