Palm Readings
Courtney Lee

She opened her fists

over wine dyed tablecloth

in hopes of being seen through,

made known to herself.

Oh, to believe

anyone could break

through the boundaries

of skin, and eye the truer self

beneath—glass encased

and still. Yet

life flows ruddy

through our wrinkles and

creases as rivers running red,

tepid to the touch, opaque


so if we can know

anything at all, it’s that our

bare bodies seldom make us naked

to the other; at best we read

between the lines

of our palms, make sense

of uncertain fog in crystal balls

that prove nothing. Let us shatter

the glass, trace our selves

in the shards,

then press against me

as close as our borders will allow

and learn me under gray bed covers

where we will spin dreams


taking the future

into our own hands.