In the palm of my hand

 

 

In the palm of my hand rests this book

Calling, whispering, I feel the rough cover on my hand

and I open it

For inspiration.

They say that the lines in my hand portend a long life,

the many offshoots pointing in disparate directions;

a doctorate, two children, three husbands and 

so much more, too many to count and so I sit here

with so many options that I sit paralyzed in my old age

how can I pick one, or two, or three

in these final days?