Meeting a Fortune Teller
There are deep creases in palm of the harried hag’s hand
Her wizen face is wrinkled, freckled, there is a brown spot on her cheek.
She has a surreal expression; her voice is gravelly and ethereal.
her tent seems mystical, with embroidered crushed velvet table cloth
taro cards are next to her left hand, she lifts a palm over her hard runes
there is a beautiful purple crystal ball in the center of her work table
I feel her mystical powers, and my hands begin shaking like autumn leaves
An energy I do not recognize begins zapping lightning bolts around the room
The hag smiles, there is no fear in her, I can see this is her normal.
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