Here’s a new one. After working on the book for so long, it feels good to write fresh stuff.
I keep thirteen over-sized umbrellas by my bed.
My mother’s back is fine, no thanks to me.
Breaking a hand mirror is worth, like, two years, tops.
I throw milk over my shoulder and cry over spilled salt.
I glue pennies face to face. I throw them into empty fountains.
If I pass a black cat sunning itself on the sidewalk
will I be lazily cursed? Like with perpetual hangnails or stage fright?
Will the cat be condemned to fleas and mange?
Or will both of us somehow be blessed?