Foretold During A Sleepover With 12-Year-Old Girls
Ghost stories and gossip, forgotten
when she showed us the Ouija board
filched from her older sister’s room.
Outside, dry leaves scraped fingertips
across pavement as wind swirled them
in patterns that may, too, have been messages,
but we clustered over the board’s dark formal script,
giggling, nervous, accusing each other
of willfully steering the plastic indicator,
denying we steered it ourselves, calling out
letters forming words forming prophecies.
I asked my future husband’s name
and was given the letter M
followed by A, then R, finally C.
No one by the name Marc in our classes,
so I wasn’t teased like girls who got
Tim or Michael or Kyle.
When I met you two years later
your name ended in a K.
Teasing, I nicknamed you Marcus,
sometimes call you that still.
After all these years,
I see what I couldn’t then.
Mark, my love, your name
was already spelled
by every letter on that board.
Laura Grace Weldon