Cassandra talks in her sleep

by Annie Stenzel

But if you’re waiting for me
to Say things the way I used to
say things, don’t bother.

There is no demand
for plangent images
from a soothsayer you won’t hear

and not every thing a seer says
is prophecy as much as half
might be a plea for different weather

or a rumination on petulance
in the marketplace
and the price of peace.

Now, sharpened pencils roll about
on the table; brushes
stand in the jar.