Tell Me What You Want to See
Madame Parout’s old ruin of a shop
was hidden half-way down an alley in
an ancient part of New York City. We hopped
off the subway with a few friends — the sin
of divination was supposed to delight
tourists like us — and they knew the secret way
down cobbled streets that bruised your feet, where the night
was black because there were no lamps, and strays
fought behind butcheries over the bits
of meat that smelled just like the dead Madame
was famous for communing with. “I’m gifted,”
Madame assured us calmly, “but just with the dead,
and only for a sacrificial fee.
I’m fair: just tell me what you want to see.”
Like this? You can read my poem, “The Difficult Thing About a Love Poem,” at the link below.
https://medium.com/@poetwithnoface/the-difficult-thing-about-a-love-poem-ef6b1ae34604