The rudiments of palmistry Andy Breckenridge

Andy Breckenridge

The Rudiments of Palmistry

a haibun

He presses his palms against the glass and sees the imprint of his heart, head and life lines mapped out in translucent smudges; she covers them over with hers to quiet applause.

They fold, wrinkle like sandpaper, cup to weigh up the colours of stones.

Shopping bags dig deep gutters on cold, wet Saturdays. She catches him falling backwards again and he slaps his forehead for the times he let her fall.

Their palms press on each others’ sacral dips, two bodies vacuum packed as one.