owashingt

Walking alone among pigeons

in Washington Square Park

A biting blue wind,

of November premonitions

cuts through flaming leaves,

to make way for superstition

-or my fate to be revealed

**

He approaches, an ivory smile,

toward my twenty year old self

He says “You’ll have one child,

‘n marry late; for now, it’s on the shelf”

(……..)

The years gone by; I count seventeen

Washington Square Park, frozen in time

The truth still remains to be seen

Fortune-teller; you had the most honest eyes

***

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