I’d had a tendency of snapping twigs in half.
You can’t do that
You can only throw bad luck at them;
like making wishes
to evil gods we prayed to
when we’re children
or when we’re hurt
Snapping twigs in half as I walked, I
saw something glisten in the grass, a piece of quartz.
Snapping twigs in half: you can’t do that
Stone #1: hate.
Bark and bits of dirt and young splinters (from the countless breaks I’d made)
fall away from my calloused hands as I wipe them clean on my jeans.
You can’t do that with people.