For you, she pulled the universe—
moonbeams sunny side up,
redwood cathedrals swathed gold,
spring chlorinated smiles—
your light I bask in daily
on full display for the cards.
For me, she drew the four of cups.
I pushed it away before she could
study my palm, trace its stuttering
heartline and pronounce me
closed, deficient, too cold
for your glow.
Before Erin Matheson Ritchie moved to California with her spouse, she suffered a palm reading at a Utah library holiday party that had her questioning just how open she keeps her heart. Now she tries to teach, raise a rabbit, and love fully. Her poems appear in New Feathers Anthology, Wishbone Words, and Dog Teeth. Find her on Instagram (@erinarielle_) and Bluesky (@erinarielle.bsky.social).
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