The neighborhood stray stuck close—

soft as licorice leaf, black as its root.

She’d curl up on our back porch       

by the ladder. We’d find rabbits’ feet

            picked clean.               Polydactyl,

she’d knock on wood with thirteen toes.

Once upon a time, I was preoccupied

with breaking backs and terrified

of Fridays. My fingers crossed so often

they grew crooked. My backpack sagged,

            hefty with horseshoes—but when dusk

fell, her howl would slay the nightmares.

My rituals could rest.