The Fortune Teller

You draw circles on the booth’s table
in the exact measurements of your cup
to predict the future rings.

You write down the initials that are carved
into the seat beside you, begin connecting
them to everyone you have ever known.

You leave your hat on the table,
walk out past the woman sharpening
her nails into actual nails.

Into an armless mug, hot coffee
is poured back at your table,
and it spins like a whirlpool.

You stand outside, and no one
is on the streets. It is midday
in the city and not a single car. You look up—from the sky,
pushing through, thousands of feet,
reaching out, thousands of hands.

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