To Seek Her Fortune

by Ursula Whitcher

This is an age of iron and steel and fiber-optic cable
but we set our silver pen-knives in the oak at the crossroads,
when we parted. I can't find you
till the blood runs down the tree.

I am lying.
        I call you on your cell-phone
your voice fizzes as you walk toward the window
stare at garbage-cans, skyscrapers, I don't know.
I am waiting till the blood runs down the tree.

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