To bring me luck

by Josephine Corcoran

I stop the bridal carriage at an old people’s home
pick out the wisest, oldest woman
pretend that she’s my mother
wear her like a new stole.

Lent an abundance of thoughts and warnings
I borrow it all, tucking wisdom and foolishness
under my mother, draped comfortably around me.
She discards everything but knowledge and power

climbs down from my shoulders
buys two pairs of good blue trainers.
We lace each other up.
We have no use for silver sixpences.