a poem a day for a year #125

I think someone should start
a kickstarter campaign
that would result in a documentary about fortune-tellers
the ones making a living passing kernels of information
from their kitchen tables
the home psychic
I would fund that
I am driven to the neon signs
window placards
the typography of
the words that call us
the whole outfit
flashing lights

once in 1995 our friend took us
a long way
in a small car
to an old house in the deep woods
we met a clairvoyant
her name was Nancy
she looked tired and round
she told my friend Meg
she would meet her soul mate
in a crowd in 1996
that whole next year was exciting
but it did not happen
she told me things that never happened too
still I am moved by these people
like wants
who are they and when did they decide
who they were
and who they were not
some must know things
it happens to some
it's not all hooey
you can't explain everything
and that is where the gasp of air lives

my little son thinks I do know the future
he is astonished that things I say
come true
like clockwork
I tell him
it's not magic baby
its love
right now I am about to text my husband a fortune
I am going to type out


and later tonight
he will hold me
my head leaned back
neck open
and I will be a soothsayer
a person who told the future