“Horoscope”

         ~ for Kate

You will wake
from the dream
of fentanyl, diagnosis,
homelessness, rise above
the clouds gurgled from a vape pen,

wear white clothes
and pink running shoes,
though still commune
with the invisible,
hear and see what others don’t.

Minimart store clerks
will loan you their phones,
call you “a sweetheart,”
you who travel light,
float in guitar licks
and piano notes
plinked as a child: Für Elise.

You who the Dollar Tree
cashier scorns with her held
breath, her averted
eyes, her lack
of response to your thank
you after ringing
up your Wet Wipes
and trail mix,

she who failed
to see the glow
of your aura,
you who smile
and heal and rise
above all who judge
you as dust.
You are moon.

*

Everything

is rolled between my palms:
brown sugar, peanut butter, unbleached
flour, and salt. Balls form on the creased
map of my hands. Travel line, heart
line, family line, fate line.

On the morning of my daughter’s
37th birthday, I lay it all out
on my kitchen counter, stir
and spoon, press a dozen
planets onto a metal tray. Criss-

cross each one with a wet fork.
Bake. Place in a clear bag.
Drive to the designated meeting
spot. Me and my sack of flat
orbs. Unless you make other choices,

I say (again and again and again),
this is your life. And then, Look
at my eyes. Her, a bird perched
on the passenger seat of my car
pulled by sky out the window.

And so she turns, her green eyes
touch my blue for a second
until she laughs, Your pupils
are so tiny! Me, I love you;
her, I love you, too,

and then goodbye.
Peanut butter cookies.
Intersect of life lines,
tight rope, high wire, thread
of connect. Energetic pinprick of light.

*

Susan Vespoli is a poet from Phoenix, AZ who believes in the power of writing to stay sane. Her poems have appeared in ONE ART, Anti-Heroin Chic, New Verse News, Rattle, Gyroscope Review, and other cool spots. She is the author of four poetry collections. Susan Vespoli – Author, Poet