I found a diamond ring in Las Vegas. It was a man’s thick gold ring set with two diamonds shaped like a signet. I put it in my pocket and flew to San Francisco.
Yesterday, I found a child’s pink hair barrette fixed with a rainbow butterfly studded with tiny gems.
I found a squat green dice rolled to the number two.
The Queen of England, heads, on a one-dollar Canadian coin.
A single earring, the French hook flattened, dangling cats-eyes.
A thick indigo glass bead, heavy as any Spanish olive, which I hung on a silver chain.
A vintage filigree rose-gold ring set with ruby chips.
A tiny lock for a toy suitcase.
Many nickels and dimes, especially under parking meters.
The silver outline of an italicized heart that I hung on the chain with the blue bead.
A brass bracelet dangling with sharp green crystals that chafed my wrist.
A Tiffany’s watch.
Silver charms and trinkets, which I hung on the chain with the slant heart and blue bead.
A kinked gold box chain with a shattered clasp.
A pyrite marble smooth as smoke.
A crystal marble with a frozen breath at its heart.
Magpies foretell the future. The piebald bird, goddaughter of raven, wears harlequin and swears endless oaths. She knows her own reflection. She strides the back of bison big as box cars to groom ticks from shaggy hides. She is a thief, bold and shameless, of biscuits and sandwich wrappers. Tucked in her nest are strands of yellow silk, fairy hair, a jade button, and a doll’s blue glass eye. From these findings, she reads the signs and prophesies. She stores them away, as proof.
Originally published in Tishman Review, July 2018.