The Fortune

One day you will rise up
from the kitchen chair
and declare yourself.
Your hands will fly
around your head like wild birds.
Your mother's first thought
will be to protect herself.
Nothing you say
will undo the folding of her arms
against you.
You will leave this house
with your fortune:
Don't bother coming back.

It won't be a moment of triumph
like first sex
where you admire your body
performing in a new way,
the sound of one heart beating
then two is distinct.
The small muscles in your arms
will ache from the fists you made
and used against yourself.
Think of it as afterbirth.

Consider yourself
the fool in the tarot deck,
standing on the precipice,
having a choice.
I don't mean to frighten you.
It won't be a bad life.
It will be a life made possible.

Christine Higgins