Very Superstitious

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?

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