Poetry

Gifts

I carry them,
the gifts from my people:
a nazar from my sister,
a snake charm from my brother.
If the hisses don’t warn
off my assailants,
the eye should freeze them.
If these two traits should fail,
the alert look and the
always-ready coils,
then I’ll spring
into something,
action or defense;
I don’t like to fight
but that doesn’t stop the world
from trying to knock me down,
so daily I ponder my gifts.
I blink a few times
as I stretch my muscles,
ready to embrace
whatever comes.
Whatever comes,
my people
are with me.

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