Tossing bones on a worn black cloth, I tell you your story  

you are amazed. I collect your money, we wave goodbye, transaction complete.  

We go our separate ways, and then we start again.  

You come back, every day, sometimes multiple times a day  

and ask for another reading  

another story, a different one from the last.  

But they’re all the same  

all about you, and your life, and your mistakes.  

You say, every time, “What’s up with this? This isn’t what I asked for!”  

But every day, you come back to me  

crawling on your hands and knees  

beg for forgiveness, beg for a different story “Please.”  

On and on, I do as you say,  

I throw the bones and repeat and repeat and repeat.  

Honey.  

You don’t realize.  

You never do.  

You don’t notice.  

You never do  

with your eyes fixated on the future, some beyond the horizon view over my shoulder,  

you never look down, you never see.  

Honey.  

These bones I’ve been throwing are yours.  

Each limb and ligament of your skeleton,  

each piece tells the same story, the story of you.  

And while you frantically stare, unblinking red eyes into the burning sunset  

I cast your bones over and over upon my worn black cloth  

watch them take the shape of you, again and again  

until you remember who you were.