One hand over another, and the dice in the dusk. A simple smile, crooked, and bread with olive oil, a nod of the head. They are able to wander through malls and find t-shirts with hidden messages. They wear these to the beach and walk among seaweed pods and rose stones. What do the t-shirts say within the letters? Thoughts like “We have heard the Dark Star Rockers.”
Are there other promises such as “living with the hostas one is free of lung cancer.” Also, they are often seen working in hospitals, giving coffee to those who wait. The somewhat lucky drive old cars, dented and sometimes silver convertibles so they can feel the wind rustling through thinning silver hair. They often want to live by willow trees, write books for children. They do walk with canes.
Carved with letters in Hebrew or Gaelic, or numbers that suggest infinity. And they walk through the city, recognizing the faces of strangers, remembering their names. And they stroll through the suburbs in the mauve dusk, taking little risks so that the foxes hidden behind the bushes have dreams of paws, one over another. When one meets a somewhat lucky person, the thing to do is this: sing the song “Sunny Side of the Street” softly under one’s breath, and pick up a lost penny.
Grey Sparrow Journal 