Luck sometimes visits a fool, but
it never sits down with him.



To err is human, to forgive divine.

Am I,
the blind follower
of stubborn habit mind
righteous spurred
justice driven
picked on
flailing unthinking
uncorked and errant,
on a fool’s errand?

In the heat of the moment,
heart lodged in throat
blood running hot
then cold
unfairness feeds a roiling
culprit released into corridors
carrying useless baggage up to my head,
I’m coming up empty.

Is the key to ask for love,
going deep
into hurt within
sore even to the touch,
as docent administering an overdue exam?

It is no fool who sits down with himself knowing,
luck there that day or not,
love is observing you
crashing through waves of
fear, shame, anger, despair
and follows you turning the pages
all the way to the final question
the answer being yes,
this test will be taken again and again.


Fortune Cookie Poems Copyright © 2022 by Stephanie Mirocha. All Rights Reserved.