Amie Whittemore

Earth, Air, Fire, Water

Earth speaks to a palm and belongs to people.
Earth appears full, a solidness, loyal as employees.
Earth is rare, the same as the palm,
thin when viewing it, pure, likely, but not all.
Air is at its finest and long when it belongs to air.
Hands often belong to people, but have a wide grasp of the world.
Air can be just as intelligent as aggressive.
Sure as hands, strong air can be sensitive but with these hands
air is extremely soft-looking, it carries everything—as if air.
Fire is either wider at the bottom or tapering as it travels.
Fire is not common. It belongs to troublemakers
with boundless energy. Don’t pen it.
When the palm is full, ideas and energy smoke.
Restlessness, the fire. It has the true dreamer
always clicking. Fire is often unable to cope.
Water is soft-looking. With water, hands have
a great color; the hand needs water in all its forms.
Water can be easily intimidated, swayed by feelings.
Sometimes, with other fierce water, a blend—
generous, tender, but not lazy in anger.
Both men and women are water, air, earth, fire.
Some can give heart that’s still damp or hot.
Those with firm wants held too long
feel insecure. Women are their handshakes.
A man’s grip shows when it lasts.
People are open practice.

Source & Method:

From Discover Yourself Through Palm Reading by Rita Robinson (New Page Books, Franklin Lakes, NJ: 2002.) Each poem is drawn from a specific chapter, which is sometimes reflected in the title, sometimes not. The words appear in the order they were found in the chapter, though, obviously, with many words omitted in between.

Amie Whittemore is the author of the poetry collection Glass Harvest (Autumn House Press), the 2020-2021 Poet Laureate of Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and an Academy of American Poets Laureate Fellow.


Issue 25