a journal of fantastical poetry

Cassandra Now

by Neile Graham

A stone under her tongue traps her words,
few stumble past. Tiny thunder eggs,
dinosaur teeth. She catches them,
all palm and graceful fingers, sea
anemones enfolding them. Then
with flick and snap she cracks them
like nuts, and they fountain
with a million voices, moist fortune
spilling from their oyster shells.

March 25th, 2015

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