Black cat

Old crow

Deathwatch beetle

Broken mirror

Others avoid you, but I

embrace you

Matron sinner of misfortunes

Come into my arms sweet kitty, and I'll tell you the truth

Luck's not bad or good, it just is

We'll make our own luck where we can

And hold our sorrows to our breasts when they come

And they are coming

They want only a saucer of milk

a shiny string for nesting

pulpy wood to tunnel into

a use for jagged shards

Every shape has a shadow in the in sun

Hold onto that darkness with all your might

It has its own gifts, some that sting

or slice or scratch or peck or burrow

A higher price paid merits higher value in the owning

Our scars are medals

Our calamites are certain

All we can control is how we greet them

with superstition and denial and fear

or with kind, accepting grace

Magpie on your shoulder

black cat on your lap

ticking beetle on your doorstep

polished slivers shine in each hand

another dawn ascends