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.