She was handing them out to everyone on our dormitory floor
and I was one of the last to arrive at her door. She said
I had a long life line, but splintered, reaching out at points.
She said I would have two children, but I wouldn't know when
or with whom.
Out on the back patio before the sun rose and warmed the tiles
I gazed, half awake at my hands and tried to remember
which lines she read, which lines would tell me which lover
would be the one to help me achieve a mortal's immortality. I tried to read
which line would tell me that my child's face would be light, like my mother's
or have my father's midnight skin. I tried to parse the one that would tell me
I would live to see my child grow up and find love as I did.
I knew the woman dozing upstairs would be there with me
for the awful times, for the bewildering times, for the moments our child
would surprise us both. And I hoped she was dreaming
of the life we were yet to witness, burgeoning inside her.
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