by Nancy Stohlman
The Fortune Teller
The fortune teller looked at my hands, smoothed them onto the table. You lost something, she said.
Yes, I said. I want to get it back.
But you can’t get it back, you know that.
That’s not true. Don’t say that, I said. That’s why I’m here.
Look, she said, pointing to the fleshy part on the outside of my palm. It’s gone. I don’t decide these things but I’m telling you what I see.
So what do I do now?
She patted my hand. It’s just part of your story, now, she said.