beneath the thick black cloth,
fingers on a metal plate,
voodoo to reproduce the
energy that flows through me.
I’d been told it’s blue, my aura,
luminous halo that surrounds
us all, and hovers above
the painted Jesus, fuels
the dreams of mystics, encourages
the larcenies of con men.
I laughed when the psychic fair
technologist retrieved my hand.
Five fingertips, bright blue,
encircled by glowing white.
It means clarity of expression,
strong faith, and once in a while,
clairvoyance. It was a lark for me,
and I restrained the giggle.
Still, my Celtic roots vibrated,
pushing me to wonder.
That snapshot stayed beside my bed
for years, consulted whenever I felt
the urge for confirmation that
photo-proof of the paranormal
is only superstition.
Kirlian photography is bunk,
Or . . . Kirlian photography is legitimate.
Daily Prompt: Superstition