Thread: The Cards Are Stacked Against Me

In a drab den
that clings to a buzzing Brooklyn block,
a woman performs
experiments of the spirit
with her mind.
Though, perhaps,
not of the supernatural kind.

The pallid paper of her hand
is a map of ink blue veins,
like worn river beds
alongside well trodden tracks
of rickety gypsy caravans.
Or maybe just a printed map
of New York subway trains.

The withered tips of her fingers
rasp dryly over the faces
of battered cornered cards.
These relics of Celtic eccentrics,
whose minds danced
with runes and romance;
The Hierophant,
The Hanged Man;
Dealt into a hasty mound
with barely a glance.

You will find love…
You will find happiness…
You will find luck…

I recall a film that I once saw -
A star of Scandinavian cinema
adorned in a costume cloak
(hoop earrings, and the like),
The cliché, not yet tired or trite.
The mid century model of modern novelty
in flickering black and white.

The hard young hearts of New York
won't open for her lore.
Her lair, unchanged through the ages,
beside a vintage clothing store.

She sags in her worn costume cloak,
and cloaks her Brooklyn accent.
You will find love…
The Lovers.
You will find happiness…
The Magician.
For a twenty dollar fine…
The Fool.

Foolishly lured by neon words,
a Psychic Readings sign.
The cards should be aligned;
And their meanings: cryptic, wise.
Instead, they pile and pile.
And I smile and smile
at this aimless act.
My charity is hers,
And hers is mine.

Do you have a boyfriend?
No.
You will! You will!

Do you have a job?
No.
Oh, but you will!

Do you have friends?
Not really.
Oh. But you will.

She has cast her wicked spell:
The old fashioned feeling of good will.

I step outside to sidelong glances;
The cheeky faces of two hip girls.
They scan me with pious surprise.
You have been scammed,
Their cool eyes imply.

He likes you, I can tell,
one girl remarks to her forlorn friend.
Her words are free and flippant
as she flips her cool hair cut,
but mine cost twenty bucks:
I will find love,
I will find luck.

This is some really great feedback. I knew that it wasn't finished or ready to send for submission anywhere, but I was stuck. So thank you for sharing your perspective. It is the first draft, you're correct. Thanks again, Drew!

The images in the first three stanza's are absolutely perfect, Celeste. You have a wonderful voice in your poetry, that carried throughout this whole poem. I am enjoying it very much.

Thanks so much for the encouraging words, Cindy! I'm really pleased that you like the beginning.

I didn't mean to imply that the first part was the only part I like, Celeste. Only that they were particularly strong images, that work well for me.

I really enjoyed this. The visuals are great and your wording brings your reader into this gypsy world. I am feeling like I need a foolish reading of my own! Nae

I... I am unworthy...

This is truly a magnificent piece, one coming from a poet who truly deserves the title "laureate."

And to quote my favorite part:

The withered tips of her fingers
rasp dryly over the faces
of battered cornered cards.
These relics of Celtic eccentrics,
whose minds danced
with runes and romance;
The Hierophant,
The Hanged Man;
Dealt into a hasty mound
with barely a glance.

I know these words my appear random, but something in these lines really brought something to me. The way it was worded... So... catching.

Again, my highest praises.

Thank you everyone for your wonderful responses! I still think I need to roll up my sleeves and do some work on this one, but I'm really happy that you like it. Your kind words are much appreciated.