Martina Reisz Newberry: Passing a Deserted High School in the Nuclear Sunshine of a Fall Afternoon

I ought to study signs and portents. 

Had I known that the feather I picked 

up outside the grounds of the high school 

on Sunset Boulevard would lift me 

above the football field and take me back 

to those dreadful days, I’d have never 

picked it up. They stand for ascension, 

you know, Feathers do. The chanting of 

wraith cheerleaders rang loud in my ears. 

my stomach folded in on itself. 

I hit the ground running. It was not 

a day for flying. Had I known that 

rocking an empty chair brought bad luck, 

I’d never have touched our old rocker 

to hear it creak. This is the reason 

I lost my wallet when I bent down 

to pick up that damn feather. It was, 

I tell you, not a day for bending down

in front of deserted high schools on

the first day of Fall’s disappointments.

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Copyright 2020 Martina Reisz Newberry. From Blues for French Roast with Chicory by Martina Reisz Newberry (Deerbrook Editions, 2020).