Grounds

January 25, 2012

Grandma Reise read coffee grounds, Scandinavian fortune-telling. She scryed grounds because she never read tealeaves, she didn’t care much for tea. She played her parlor magic for a short while, when she ran out of good fortunes to deliver; money, marriage, travel, job, birth, she started making fortunes up. There were too many real fortunes to hand out, dark stars at the bottom of a white porcelain universe. Grandma made up fortunes her customers knew were pretty wild, like the one she told a second cousin about a live bear hunt, in Idaho, near a lake, running into a woman, who looked like Veronica Lake, and how show business was really this cousin’s life anyway, working as an usher at the theater and all. After a laugh, Grandma received payment; the cup was on the customer. And after any reading Grandma’s smile straightened while she straightened up, rinsing out the portent in porcelain, dark grounds crying as they filter down the drain…

— Kevin Zepper

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