You are my lucky star.
My unmothered bird,
dropped from the sky
like a millstone.
If you outlive the fall,
crawl from your crater
like the second coming,
like the swell of new growth
after fire: just briars and briars
and briars.
Copyright © 2019 Lindsay Lusby. Used with permission of the author. This poem originally appeared in The Cincinnati Review, Winter 2019.