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30 Days of Poetry: Superstition

My Baba hated hats on the bed.

She hid her thumbs when passing cemeteries.

She avoided unlucky numbers and put all her bills in the wallet facing down so they couldn't "fly out."

My Baba was superstitious to the point of anger.

We had many arguments.

One day it occurred to me that she lived through the atrocity of war.

She lived years of her life hiding in a cave and decades rebuilding her culture and home.

I guess when nothing makes sense anymore and logic fails you,

all you have is superstition.

I always hide my thumbs when passing cemeteries now.

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