on seeing the future

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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