CONVERSATION WITH LUCK
dawn & luck struts past my door in burnished boots head high shoulders puffed with good news he does not stop to say hi so i run after him, my voice scattering along the street like broken glass, screaming those things in your hands belong to me but luck is a minute hand ticking across abandoned clocks he quickens his steps pretending not to hear his memory slurring he forgets his people those who wail at his feet with palms upturned he forgets the ones who chant his name until their mouths bled luck wears that faux grin bright like sunflowers rinsed in morning light the grin he wore when our fathers sank into the Atlantic when war bit into the flesh of my country and chewed without shame when things at home began unravelling like loose thread he stood there smiling teeth too white to taste our grief today i catch him grip his ankles just like Jacob he fights but i watch his breath shorten why is your face always shiny i ask my face only reflects my duty to make others smile he responds panting then why do your clients carry hunger in their eyes i demand his pupils widen his knees buckle and luck collapses sometimes greater forces pin me down just like you’re doing now and whip my hands until i wilt I swear not every misfortune is my fault he dips his index finger into dust presses it to his tongue swears on his life your country that’s not me that was men in suits and boots and oil-slicked tongues i tell him trade your last burden for freedom he opens his bag hands me a bundle of cracked smiles says it’s all he’s got says he fights daily battles too that the ones who win look lucky but are mostly just greedy.
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