Shanghai, the 1930s. The French Concession.

Behind an unmarked door on a plane-tree street

sat a diviner named Julie.

Those waiting on word that hadn't come,

and those who couldn't let go of someone already gone,

sat across her table after dark.

Julie wrote down the hour of your birth

and laid three cards over it.

Once the cards were down, she kept her words brief.

“This year, this love holds.”

“This year, this love is on hold.”

“This year, this love is over.”

She gave one of those three answers, and the month to move.

August 1937. The night the shelling reached the concession wall,

Julie vanished.

In the drawer of her table remained one deck of cards and one ledger.

The last page is left blank for three cards.