Fortune Cookie Factory (The End of the Meal)

Sixty-seven women in
Four straight lines,
Busily bobbing
babooshkas, each day

At the fortune-cookie factory --
Fold tiny epiphanies
into sweet, still-warm
dough:

Beware of quick changes.
You have true friends.
Be cautious of strangers.
Your love is untrue.

Which batch reaches me,
now?
I linger, all edges,
With bright, catching
breath.