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

what 

my future holds.  

everything he said was powerful

beautiful

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.