Aurelia Preskill
signs of luck
We lie here, feet ground down into the earth like cement tied into bone,
ligaments and flesh turned to tree trunks.
Where our backs caress the slopes of concrete, paper white reminders flit
into empty glasses once filled with lemonade, the sticky spilled onto four
leaf clovers we plucked from the soft grass before they had more than
three leaves.
In my eye there's a glitter of glass, an icicle that melted into something
else, making me wonder if it might be enough to dance with your shoes
hanging from a telephone wire, toes curling into gravel.
With luck, rain could fall, revealing veins of gold peeking from beneath the
cracks in the driveway
a cobweb glittering in the sunshine
the smell of spring.
Bio
Aurelia Preskill is a high school student living in San Francisco. She often prefers short writing that twists the mind up a bit, as opposed to lengthy prose. She loves dark chocolate.