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.