Weekend Words

12/26/12

When I was young, my great-grandmother

taught me to read tea leaves.

When the merest dregs were left,

she’d take the delicate cup and swirl

the kaleidoscope of filaments.

Once more upon the saucer, she’d turn

to see what another angle might have hidden.

Birds were good luck, and travel,

fortunes were prescribed to other animals,

(I imagine they had possibly

varied every time). Especially

lucky was a prosperous tree,

and each lone bit that fell like leaves

well, that was money. She’d grin

and suck her false teeth.

It was alright if your cup

was more like static;

she’d find a fortune

in each.

I remembered this the other day

as I was finishing a cup before bed,

and accidentally drank the bitter flecks.

I wondered in what shape they might

assemble on my tongue.