Palmist

Life Line

The dog stops long enough to study me in repose

at the helm of the sink

gazing on the hand neatly framed in the window

on the backyard feeders

dreading delivery of another capricious command

arm a spar casting a shadow of doubt

across the deck, cupped palm

trimmed to catch the watery light. 

No stranger to the sea

head tilted, she awaits her orders

pretends not to notice we’re becalmed

blithely unaware

bobbing paired in the doldrums

the life line

that hairy twist of sisal twine we palm for luck

maps an estuary

at the mouth of a meandering river arrived at last. 

I offer my hand

she turns up her nose

sweet water gone brackish on the turning tide.