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Crunch. I slid the paper strip from
the broken cookie. My fortune was
clearly printed. No, this wasn’t a
prediction, or some silly universal
horoscope shown in daily papers
everywhere, it was baked inside the
odd shaped treat, and was truly mine.
Unlike a Ouija Board where a
question must be posed, this crumb-
coated rectangle waited for my hand
to release it.
Coins were inserted into machines
where a mannequin moved and
indicated my future. While I could
never be serious about that device,
I so enjoyed inserting money. A
girlhood magazine had a monthly message
but wasn’t really private and special.
Wishes on stars were, well, wishes.
This pale brown crunchy treat, sitting in
a wooded bowl, waited for me to pick it;
I placed the predicted circumstance
in my purse assuming when ‘such’ revealed
itself, I’d smile and then affix the written
words to an empty spot on my desk blotter.
Halfway through young adulthood, I
accepted the folly. What’s been fortune,
fortunate, fortuitous has little to do with
cookies or Ouija, rabbits’ feet charms,
yet there’s a temptation to ‘believe’ when
I feel that cookie give way, erupt to
allow a thin strip of magic to appear


Lois Greene Stone, writer and poet, has been syndicated worldwide. Poetry and personal essays have been included in hard & softcover book anthologies. Collections of her personal items/photos/memorabilia are in major museums including twelve different divisions of The Smithsonian.

© 2016, Lois Greene Stone

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