Why can't it be

Crow,
black cat,
broken mirror—
we call them cursed,
bad omens,
things to be feared.

But why?

Why can't a crow
just cross the city,
wings carrying it
from one rooftop to another,
without knowing
someone below
has called it cursed?

Why can't a broken mirror
simply be
pieces
of the same mirror?

Why do we keep
putting meanings
on things
that never asked for them?

Maybe the curse
was never in them.

Maybe it was
in the eyes
of those
who saw them that way.