The eyes that dart around like startled finches,
The furtive hand that stretches out and pinches
Whatever there’s to find in velvet purses,
The legs that sprint away from shouts and curses.
Not me – I rise above such pettiness and greed.
It’s what’s inside you that I want to reach and read
To understand what calms the human soul.
I’m restless when I’ve no one to console.
I’m older than the moon, a silent witness
Of ancient kingdoms lost to human weakness.
I’ve seen it all – and most is unappealing.
I’m not a trickster, no. I practise healing.
I cross your path, you cross my palm, I read your lines.
I only tell you what you want to hear. No lies.
I’ve seen the grim and barren space ahead.
The truth will hurt. I’ll make it sweet instead.
Call it my calling: I’m a stellar
Fortune teller.
The Fortune Teller, Georges de La Tour, 1630