As a girl, I walked with twenty pennies
in my shoe. A penny in your shoe
was good luck, I’d heard,
and with each added penny
found on the sidewalk, I felt luckier.
The bottoms of my feet, of course, turned green.
And sometimes when I’d dangle my shoe from a toe,
it sounded like a child was shaking a piggy bank.
But dang, I was lucky. I believed it.
I don’t walk with pennies anymore,
and I don’t really believe in luck
but if I could give you some pennies tonight
to put in your boots, I would.
And an upturned horse shoe.
A kick-ass horoscope.
A candle to blow out and make a wish—
and the beautiful darkness after—
and a match to light the candle again
to make another wish. And another.
