I see me catch the glass bowl
admire my juggling as I stoop
down I go in slow motion
watch the floor break the fall
my hand a fleshy pad between
as the shattering shards spout
geyser gushing blood
my screams make believe
I’ve become
what a banshee might be
I am transformed into it
my impression
has me in stitches
with pain
shrieks from me
I run the white sink water
turning cold red down drain
howls and harsh words
tell myself to shut up
so detached
view the flow of this red river valley
where I predict a yippee-yi-yay emergency
by the palm of my hand
all these new lines
my future crystal
so easy to interpret
this new ability
gift of foresight
a few moments late
Lanning Lee 