Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2022  Vol.21  No. 1
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Lucky Star

There was a day in December Dad once considered
his lucky day, but now he forgets which day it was.

There’s a day each April I think of as lucky,
but now cannot remember why.

There have been actual lucky days almost
every season of our lives, I’m sure,

but I can’t place them for you now,
nor the brand of luck they brought us.

If there is a difference anymore
between joy and relief, I confess it’s been rare

enough for me to find, an abstraction, like god,
and, like god, embodied once, in several forms—

I could name them all for you today.
Instead I’ll say, there are the stars you wish on

and the uninhabitable matter they truly are.
You can wish on any star, with or without a name,

though they say those called first and shooting
are luckiest—neither stars, technically speaking.

Not to speak is the thing to remember. A wish
must stay secret to be granted, which often takes so long

it grows obsolete. Like Dad and me, you might
forget it. Your life’s complete, with or without it.  

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