Charm

My inheritance from my
grandfather was his lucky
rabbit’s foot, which has never
brought me luck but reminds me
of the man who believed it
could. The thing has yellowed through
the years, although the claws are
still quite sharp. From time to time
I take it from the drawer
beside my bed, breathe the fur
which smells faintly of metal
and the musk of something still
wild. I rub a thumb across
the pelt, making small circles
that say without words, there’s luck
simply in being alive.
Then I slip a finger through
its chain and think of my dead
grandfather doing the same.
Years from now, maybe my son
will question who’s been touched by
this charm, fingers taking in
each animal’s secret. Strange
to imagine how some day
I will shiver when his hand
makes contact with the trinket,
which he’ll squeeze tightly in his
palm the way I once held him—

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Robert Fillman is the author of The Melting Point (Broadstone, 2025), House Bird (Terrapin, 2022), and the chapbook November Weather Spell (Main Street Rag, 2019). Individual poems have appeared in Salamander, Spoon River Poetry Review, Tar River Poetry, Verse Daily, and elsewhere. His criticism has been published in ISLE: Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and the Environment, College Literature, Journal of Modern Literature, and elsewhere. He is an assistant professor at Kutztown University in eastern Pennsylvania and the poetry editor at Pennsylvania English. More of his work can be found at www.robertfillman.com