Divination

If I could
I would pull back the fabric
of the universe and the divine.
Search the pin pricks of stars,
watch the cusp of each house,
the movement of the moon,
and explain that mercury in retrograde
has no bearing on this.

I would scry with fire.
Loose flames burning away
a small sacrifice.
A payment for my eyes to see
something more than bright amber
dancing before us.

I would pluck a strand
from what’s left of your hair
and place it inside a doll.
The black button eyes watching
as I pray to hear you cough less and
push white pins into cancerous lungs.

I would take your hand in mine.
Running my finger along your palm
and the shortened life line.
Explain that the circle wrapping
around it near the end stands
for infinity, not pain.

If I could
I would give you an answer.
Something more definite than
“I’m sure you’ll be okay.”
Instead, I glance at the inside of your mug
covered in the remains of a tea bag.
Watch as the crushed leaves swirl
in warm water and the blood
you spat into it.

This poem was originally published in the Mystery issue of Popshot Magazine