HEARD / WORD is a new audio series highlighting compelling voices in poetry and prose. This week, poet and writer Maria Rubio reads “Ballad of Good Luck Charms,” a piece manifested through decolonization work, the breaking of generational patterns, and the building of loving communication between mother and daughter.

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BALLAD OF GOOD LUCK CHARMS

By Maria Rubio

In the middle of my glorious, days' long hustle
red-rimmed eyes, C shaped spine,
patience thinner than stray garlic leaf in adobo gravy
mom calls to tell me
"Make sure your money faces the front of your wallet"
"Put laurel in your purse"
"Don't forget to carry salt all the time" 
"Keep some money in a red envelope"
She calls from across the ocean to remind me of my magic
Her words cleaving the editing of my resume
as I maneuver syntax and grammar
into the manifestation of golden opportunities 
that she lay down her youth for
like daggers in the swirling sand dunes of time immemorial

And I say "I know all about conjuring spells"
before reminding her that I come from a long line of women
who were devoted to the boisterous clatter of their own laughter
against the din of wailing babies and arrogant yelling men
against the grain of roaring expectations
waiting to swallow them - us - whole like puffs of smoke
I say this like I was not one of those pleading babies,
like I did not come from the seed of an unworthy man,
like my life wasn't made possible by the magic she had sown
into her own flesh by dint of trial and error,
trust and heartbreak,

I wish to remind her,
as I ask for more than they tell me I'm worth,
that we do not go down easy
we make them choke
we are the survivors of war
the spoils of vengeance
the reward of so many versions of our selves dying by fire
I see the faces of all we were and all we have come from
as I bite my tongue to spare her my salty indolence
Of course she knows.
She has always known,
but she is keeping step with a beat underlying the melody of my footsteps
She is making good with the promise in the bass while I am harmonizing with the choir
She is laying down the snare which highlights my treble hand
She is leaving me to carry the tune
so that I may breathe life into a prayer that I have carried within me
since I was in her
and she was in her mother
and our ancestors dreamed us
and everything we have ever done
into existence.

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