Today's poem is by Morri Creech
Elegy for a Small Town Psychic
Weekdays you rummaged through the universe
spinning around inside your crystal ball
for Lotto numbers, the checkout girl's lost purse,
some plumber's vagrant niece who wouldn't call.
Alas, the turban and the sequined shawl
are all packed up now with your uncashed checks,
sandalwood incense, candles, tarot decks.
The past is where we left it swept away
under some cosmic couch or coffee table
where, fuzzed with lint, it will most likely stay.
Who will reclaim for us, Clairvoyant Mabel,
those trivial hours, and polish them to fable
the New Year's kiss, the wealthy man's dropped glove
we might have turned to money or to love?
And the future? Time grinds forward on its track,
keeping to schedule though you've stepped off board.
Great sage of horoscope and zodiac,
nine hundred number, palm, and credit card
prophet the constellations once adored
who will conduct us now on our destined way?
The tight-lipped stars have nothing left to say.
Copyright © 2013 Morri Creech All rights reserved
from The Sleep of Reason
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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