I look at the lines in the palm of my hand,
how they crisscross and curve.
I close my hand, close it tight.
For what purpose will it serve?
Will my lifeline say how long I’ll live?
Or fool me into thinking
that my days will have me live too long
and send my heart sinking
into that loneliness place I know
that tells me I’ll remain,
remembering that the lifeline in your hand
was shorter, leaving me in pain.
Edwina Reizer's Other Poems
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