you think you want to know
of things to come? well,
if I tell you, you won’t believe me.
people hear what they want to hear,
believe what they want to believe.
still, okay: if you stand on a high,
narrow place and jump around,
you’ll fall. if you gather up
all the wealth and hold it tight,
you won’t have many friends,
not real ones, anyway. see?
how tragic, you think–
always to see the future, but
never to be believed, forever
thought a liar and called a fool.
eh, it’s not as bad as all that.
who of you has never been called
a fool? who has never
not been believed? the future
is what you make of it. and besides
I’d trade not being believed any day
for what got me this curse.
I dared say “no” to him,
that arrogant, spiteful god–
me, Cassandra! mere mortal, and
a woman, too! he cared nothing
for prophecy or consequences,
thought he could just speak his desire
into being– but it turned out
when our speaking had the power
to define the shape of things to come,
when the future was being forged in
the angry clash of his demand
and my refusal– when it mattered– then
my word was as good as his.
poem (c) 2017 D. Ohlandt
please only reprint in entirety and with credit given
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