Cardinals (A Poem)

The curse of the cracked sidewalks,

the terror of thirteen,

the bad luck of broken mirrors and black cats:

superstitions that my childhood self believed 

as strongly as I did the story of Santa Claus.

Years of finding a coin and a wish to cast it into a fountain,

hopeful that my desires would come true. 

Years would dwindle until those beliefs no longer stood

and I understood they were nothing more than old wives' tales

meant to preserve the magic of the unknown.

Coins and wishes no longer drew me in

and mirror shards and uneven numbers no longer posed a threat.

When the feeling of losing you crept into my chest,

filling my heart’s fresh wound with cold,

I turned to childhood hopes to bring serenity.

It was mere days later when I found my reflection

staring at me from the waters of a Central Park fountain.

I remain unsure of what came over me

but before I knew it, I listened to the penny from my palm splash.

Among the other lost wishes in the water, 

I wished you could trade your wings for another five minutes with me,

knowing my name and knowing your memories.

I wished for you.

I turned away, knowing the only thing to come would be the numb

burrowing deep into my soul.

My footsteps fell deaf on my ears, 

though my eyes were not blind to the spot of red perched on a branch:

a cardinal.

I knew the tale like the back of my hand. 

I knew what they meant.

Maybe faith in fairy tales and superstitions had faded from my mind,

replaced by half-hearted logic and reasoning,

but this was no coincidence.

I asked, you answered.

Now instead of the cold and the hurt,

I can feel you beside me, easing the aftermath.

My love has grown; my love for who you were and who I knew,

and my love for lucky pennies and magic fountains.