by Shannon Austin Daniel Romero Where we gather our superstitions & play with them freely, building a ladder to walk under. Where we step on every spine in the sidewalk, cut a splinter at the place it becomes a birthmark. Where an umbrella is always open in the wake of a dry wedding. Where we gift yellow roses & toast with water, our bodies. Wear red to call lightning. Where a mirror spies another looking into itself. Where we break both. Where we hoard a thousand copper memo