KNOWING

Not all warnings use words.

She waddled into town with the dust.

Muttering to herself
the hopes of the old,
the dread of the young,
the despair of those in love.

She knew no other way of being.

The future rested in her left hand.
The past in her right.

The present lay across the table before her.

She settled near the fountain.

The men barely glanced.
The women took note.
The priest blessed her.
The children stared.

But no one was more curious than she.

She approached the old woman carefully.

Without a word,
the woman motioned for her to sit.

She took the young woman’s hand.
Turned it this way and that,
like a platter under inspection.

Checking for dents.
Divots.
Bends.

The old woman clicked her tongue.

Then waved her away.

The young woman stood slowly.
Backed away carefully,
never turning her back.

Only when she became a speck on the horizon
did she turn

and run.