The Fortune Teller

She was sitting there in a niche in the wall
As I, in the crowd, passed by.
When her garments of red and jewelry of gold
And silver caught my eye.
Her face was wrinkled and brown from the years
And her hair was a feathery white.
Yet, her eyes showed no sign of decades gone by
And glistened black as the night.
There were several cardboard boxes stacked there
Behind which she was sitting this day.
With her cards laid out on her “table” she sat
Hoping someone would look her way.
Then along came a man and stopped and spoke
To the woman dressed all in red.
He then sat on a box and she gazed at his palm
But I could not hear what she said.
I stood at a distance and watched while she spoke
To the man who had offered his hand.
Her eyes were closed and he was transfixed
To that face so wrinkled and tanned.
It seemed a long time when he finally stood
And rejoined the crowd passing by.
A peaceful look seemed to cover his face.
Maybe I’ll give her a try.

* Phyliss took the photos of this fortune teller, or palmist, in the Main Square of Krakow, Poland.

By Phyliss McKenzie (


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