NEPHART.COM

Are you superstitious?

Most mornings

a black cat crosses my path.

I wave at him

and walk on.

The newspaper that prints my bad horoscope

I toss into the air.

The one with good predictions

I hug like a childhood doll.

Yet when I watch Chucky

some corner of my heart whispers

that the doll might wake up tonight

with a knife.

The frame on my wall tilts sideways.

Misfortune?

No, the nails are probably loose

or the frame simply wants

a human touch

after years of silence.

I knock on wood.

Not for luck,

but for the rhythm.

In my village

I have seen people possessed

speaking languages

no one could translate.

Even once

it happened to me.

Since then

belief and doubt

sit on the same bench

arguing quietly.

I nod at ghost stories

while the barber trims my hair.

I agree just enough

to keep my ears safe.

Fables, elders, folklore

walk beside us everywhere.

Sometimes my education

bows its head

before their stubborn shadows.

So I stand on this strange stage of life

with a clapboard in my hand.

If the world wants superstition

I can play the role.

If it wants reason

I can rewrite the scene.