Thick With Superstition

pleatings of color upon color,
glossy-thick, along with fishwrappers
printed black/white/black/white/
black/white

[while the ribbon, red, around
her wrist, daily wards off
the evil eye, and she, thick with
superstition, goes on]

local rows, in white and black
are more to her interest, the gate
hanging, broken-hinged,
the fence unmended, some squabble
over the marking of an acre

through which she walks at night,
trip, trippingly, the stars her only
light until she finds another mouth and
he, hers

let anyone talk across her?  Oh no. She will be
speaking, speaking, speaking
long after they are all weighed down
by that stony grey soil