May 26, 2009

At Ruann’s, Having Tea with the Future

Written by Sally Molini

Read by April Christiansen

Our napkins have sailed
lap to lip, lie stained with the same
shadow settled in empty cups,
twilight loosening visual hold.
Sunset isn’t finished yet,
sky still working the color of rosehip —
I’m hoping for a steeped pink
that may never come.
Ruann says she has a gift
for reading tea leaves, washed-up
bits claiming symbiotic dreams —
she doesn’t want to hear about
my life’s cause-and-effect,
an old brew of past choices,
patterns and directions
even I don’t bother to read.
My bad mood deflected
by Ru’s upbeat,
who turns on the patio light,
telling me I’ve got nothing
to worry about, a new job
at the bottom of my cup.
Her neighbor meanwhile
is out in his yard again,
misting his red dangling
fuchsias, spying on us
through that hole in the fence,
the greedy eye of hard times
already staring me down.