Cindy Buchanan

Paper Fortune Teller

 
At eleven, my angles soften
and he whose touch I cannot evade
teaches me his truth: rapacious birds
and bees will press against me if
I so much as glance their way.
His hands lurk at the edges
of my days, leave bruises
on and under skin. I learn
to walk head down, numb
to the eyes, the hips of boys.

I begin to believe their scents
would be as his: the damp collar
of an unwashed sweater, pine pitch,
chainsaw oil, sour red wine.
Suffocated, my body deflates—
pierced by ownership.

So, I fold myself into an origami box
like the paper fortune tellers
made by other sixth grade girls
and watch as fingers and thumbs
push me open, close me up,
make me disappear.

Cindy Buchanan was raised in Alaska, has a B.A. in English from Gonzaga University, and was a preschool teacher until she retired. She studies poetry at Hugo House in Seattle, Washington where she currently lives, and is a member of a two monthly poetry groups. She is an avid runner and hiker and enjoys every opportunity to be outdoors. Her work has been published in Chestnut Review, Evening Street Review, The MacGuffin, Hole in the Head Review, and other journals. Her first chapbook, Learning to Breathe (Finishing Line Press), will be published in 2023.