HORSESHOES*

   in memory of

Andrea Gibson

Hanging
heavy 

on a
bone-thin

 limb
are 

six rusted
horseshoes.

Such a strange
 bracelet

for a season
so biting.

Surely, 
the first shoe 

speaks, 
incants 

on behalf
of the rest

when

 it announces 

its queer

 pronouncement of
 
 O-D  L-U-C-K
in bold 

raised 

letters, 

while the G and O 

of good 

are wholly 

hidden 

behind 

the brittlest

branch of all,
that could easily

be hope.
But maybe

it’s not 
a winter twig

obscuring the go

in good,

 but instead 

a pinky-like promise 

fingering 

its way

ever 

deeper 

into the crisp 

sky-blue grip

of the brightening 
light of day.  

*Inspired by the documentary, 

Come See Me in the Good Light