Fortune Teller

Paper wrapped up reflections, questions–
What would you be? Fingernail
scratched folds, all four corners.
Flipped. Folded some more–then worked
with fingertips; a fortune teller that taps
back and forth triangles 
that confront each other, trade
questions, change solutions;
this is social work. Considering, 
blending, studying–a bawking chicken’s beak
that speaks while the family
does not, for dinner except with 
a machete-sharp signal on the plate for you
to chop–what you feel over killing the bird.
A very old custom this examination
of anomalies and fortune.
The paper, torn, weather-beaten, becomes a shred 
bestowed upon you.

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