Lucky Penny

I was seven when there laid a penny—
copper beamed like the Grand Canyon.
I heard it was unlucky—
a penny on tails.
My fingers griped it,
eager to fill my piggy bank.
Luck or not, it chimed the same
inside a jar full of change.

It was nine o’clock when there laid my little brother—
face white like my mother’s wedding dress.
I heard him chocking earlier—
I thought nothing of it.
My fingers pressed his lips blue,
eager to understand why this was so.
Motionless or not, dead looked the same
inside his red vein eyes.

I was twelve when there laid a penny—
copper stained like mint green toothpaste.
I heard it was unlucky—
a penny on tails.
My fingers curled in a fist tight,
eager to remind myself of that memory.
Luck or not, there that penny be the same
inside my guilt for my brother—gone.