by Paul Sohar

The future is tucked under her skirt

and not in the leaves that curl

in her hands as the gypsy girl unravels

your palm and grieves for your sins.

Nothing succeeds like a succession

of lies paving the way to a dramatic

climax where she ties your lifelines

in a knot, for she knows the tracks

don’t just speed off for no good

reason at all; when they hit the wall

of tomorrow her grin is always there,

soft and cold like dusty snow,

and if you try to look for tealeaves

among the fast folds of her skirt

you’ll only find your unforgiving past:

another lie to squirt you in the eye.



Author bio:
Paul Sohar got to pursue his life-long interest in literature full time when he went on disability from his job in a chemistry lab. The results have slowly crept into Chelsea, Chiron Review,, Grain, Good Foot, Hunger, Partisan Review, Poem, Poesy, Pudding, Rattle, Runes, Seneca Review, etc, and six books of translations from the Hungarian

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s