by Jo Walton



She does not see you, your uncertainty,

hesitating on her threshold.

She does not see the room you see

symbols tacked-up,

light leaking round cheap drapes, the crystal

reflecting you both,

as if you stood together,

peering beneath its surface.

She does not even see the cards

as she lays them out before you

with weary polite precision.

She does not recall the question

you struggled to ask her

through the choking ghost of incense,

the expectation of deception.

She stares at the threads of pattern

stretched on the looming future

and the darkness of your eyes is her lamp.



About the Author:

Jo Walton is the author of six science fiction and fantasy novels, with a seventh, Half a Crown due out from Tor in September. She has published poems in earlier editions of Lone Star Stories, and in Asimov's, Goblin Fruit and various anthologies. A collection of her poetry will be published by NESFA Press in February 2009. She lives in Montreal.


Poem 2008 Jo Walton.