A poem about the fear of long-held superstitions.

Image Credit: 
Public Domain

The day of 2018’s death rattle is close
and as I turn a corner
and walk down the road
to reach the flat
a single moment
freezes me in my tracks.
Unable to move for a minute or two.
It feels unnatural,
like I’m under a witch’s spell.
I see the cause of my situation is a
creature associated with such a character.
The blur of a black cat
crossing my path.
The primary link
In a chain of festering superstitions
that ensures paranoid dread of
ill fortune in the future.

Ricky Gillies is primarily a poet and occasional short story writer with a fondness for melancholy and alliteration.

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