The first time I was struck by lightning, my starlings, my words
flew from my lips, unfurled my mythologies — a fugue state

of modern life. In that flash I counted my lucks, the ultimate
being: being. The chances! Life never felt more tilt-a-whirl.

*

When Keith Richards was electrocuted on stage, Watts
saw him fly backward in a blue arc, saved only by his 2”

rubber hush-puppies, a surprising but wise fashion choice.
I’m obsessed by how Keith and I share the same birthday (12/18).

*

Second time struck, my tongue took on its own life, curled
my words into bird chatter, my 1st language, then French

my mother’s 3rd. Everyone I passed, seemed to speak French,
badly—a zombie hallucination that faded back to normal

but on the train home I couldn’t help noticing 2 separate people
reading the same translation of the “I Ching” (intro by Jung).

*

I’ve tossed yarrow sticks and runestones, prayed to half-lit
moons but I’m still not sure what it means to be on a path.

I met my love through a friend who had a vision who
I met through a friend from a job, which I found

because my sister knew the owner’s cousin (who
by the way, became a famous comedian), and my sister,

well, that’s a story for another time, all I can say is,
what are the chances of such luck?

Marietta Brill

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