Between Bruises & Blooms

She spread the cards
across the table
like constellations
waiting to be named.

No crystal ball.

No smoky room.

Just worn corners,
cold coffee,
and a woman
learning
to trust herself again.

Each card
held less prophecy
than permission.

Permission
to rest.

To leave.

To grieve.

To become.

The oracle
never whispered
what tomorrow held.

It only reminded her
that today
was still hers
to choose.