luck.

Calico cats are lucky, you know. That’s what some people say, at least. That’s what this one is, I think. This one is lucky, and she’s lent one of her lives to the boy whose lap she’s perched on. She stays even though he can’t hold her while the nurses do their work. She stays even though every fiber of her instinct tells her she should run.

Run far.

Run away.

But run where?

Out there it is open, loud, and crumbling. The sky falls every which way and tries to flatten as much as it can. The land is on fire. The air is full of rocks. You can see it in her fur, in the mats in her tail, in the black of her eyes.

In here it is people, loud, and echoing. Metal. Iron. Salt. In here is the boy who carried her, clutched to his chest, from underneath the fallen sky, across the burning land. In here is a room that’s still a room, with a roof that’s still a roof. In here is safety, as much as there is that. As much as she understands it.

And so she stays, sitting on her boy’s stomach. Keeping him lucky.

__________

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Read more from mypoetmuse and project creator, Matt Cantor @Gaza_Closed_Captions