She picks up the tiny teacup
reads cracked lines
of leftover Turkish coffee.
A gypsy, wanderer by trade
she travelled to Turkey, Syria, Lebanon
belly-danced in taverns,
then ended up in eastern Ontario.
But her wedding band bruised her finger.
She left her husband
with glacier winds swirling her hair,
phantom aromas of garlic, allspice, mint
lingered in dark strands
she pulls at them and peers
into the cup again,
strains sunken eyes
Once beautiful, village men sang
love ballads, strummed fingers on guitars
that later pressed into her olive skin.
Now old eyes look deep into the cup.
She leans forward,
elbows on table edge,
her wrinkled fingers entwine.
She tries to read her fate
but sees nothing,
only remnants of caffeine.