Lunchtime Palmistry

I study her hands at lunchtime
square, with round fingers and short nails
like a boy’s.
the palmistry chart I keep under my bed
says that people with square hands are honest,
loyal, reliable.
We’re both sketching faces
between bites of granola bars–
I try to find patterns
in the swirls of graphite
that stain her fingertips.
her honey eyes are quiet
and I wonder what she’s thinking,
as I always do.
the corners of her mouth turn upward,
a secret smile
just for us,
and I wonder–
will I ever love again
like I do at fifteen?
Here in the sanctuary of the second floor art room
marveling at the mysteries of life
with my lovely auburn-haired Aquarius–
She of the square hands
and paintbrush freckles
And me
of the runaway mind.

By Abigail Povill