April 2019
Joan Colby
JoanMC@aol.com
JoanMC@aol.com
Note: This poem which appeared in Wisconsin Review some years ago was inspired by a book about common superstitions. It occurs to me that I should have written a companion poem called Good Signs, maybe it is not too late.
BAD SIGNS
A white pigeon nests
upon your chimney.
A black moth
flies into your house.
A nightjar cries
its misfortune
into a shattering mirror.
A nun
enters your field of vision.
You walk in her shadow.
You gather snowdrops,
sing at table.
The sparrow lacks sympathy
it is condemned by god
to hop in invisible hobbles.
You have caged innumerable sparrows.
Wed your love on Thursday.
You wander, you wander
until you come to a dead body.
The worst omen of all.
It sucks you down
into its grinning mouth
through the windows
of its eyes, into its bones.
And now
3 knocks at the door,
a mole tunnels under the washhouse,
a dog howls
and a deathwatch
beetle taps in the wood
calling to its kind.
Wisconsin Review
BAD SIGNS
A white pigeon nests
upon your chimney.
A black moth
flies into your house.
A nightjar cries
its misfortune
into a shattering mirror.
A nun
enters your field of vision.
You walk in her shadow.
You gather snowdrops,
sing at table.
The sparrow lacks sympathy
it is condemned by god
to hop in invisible hobbles.
You have caged innumerable sparrows.
Wed your love on Thursday.
You wander, you wander
until you come to a dead body.
The worst omen of all.
It sucks you down
into its grinning mouth
through the windows
of its eyes, into its bones.
And now
3 knocks at the door,
a mole tunnels under the washhouse,
a dog howls
and a deathwatch
beetle taps in the wood
calling to its kind.
Wisconsin Review
© 2019 Joan Colby
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