What The Horoscopes Contain Poem by Faith Wood

Every morning
You spring out of bed like a heart attack,
lace up your running shoes and jog around the block
It's your time alone,
Time to think,
Time to heal,
Time to want and to yearn
'Where am I going? '
As you reach the driveway,
you pick up the sections of the newspaper
the wind had scattered earlier that morning
Racing into the house, you place them on the countertop
and begin to flip through the pages of monotonous words
You stop abruptly as your eyes cross over the horroscope section
'What do the stars hold in my future? '
More like 'What has the news made up now? '
You find your sign-Scorpio
It reminds you of something independent and fierce,
something almost like yourself or a dragon-a fairy tale
Your fortune reads
'Today is a day for love'
But who's saying this?
And how are they supposed to know?
A mere scrap of paper cannot contain all the answers.