Saturday, April 8, 2017

Luck

Luck

throw my childsakes in the air and comes down lummi sticks, French braids, hard sharp pebbles under thick small foot

raining church hours, mystery airmail, tomes of antiquity barricading sunshine

a rip-edged bright tin rattle to the clunk shush of the washboard

learning underfoot, I am small white blond thing

inside looking out, outside looking in?

sleeping through rain, I am mosquito bait huddled

a mango tang to the sauce, the pie, the raw bare open hands

chairs to the march, potluck collecting, the hour straightens the week


window bars to focus my cross-eyes, brave, scared, rhymes on a two-inch balance beam, everything I learned to unlearn

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