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I had your palm read, sliced it clean at the wrist
while you were sleeping
I was told I am the embryo that refused to grow
fast enough to be a pure daughter
I paid good money
because money is bead and
string and i have plenty
Mother, she said you struck dark already
I am to follow you like a ghost mule
into some dead-end country
where we will sit like seed hunters
fingers mining the earth
our words lost to task
the light forever at our back
our stories pleasing no one
I kept your hand in mine, held it the way
home
I decided her words were wrong
the dark doesn’t know you