Having just smelled the musky scent of a recent rain, while on my daily walk in the yard, I was reminded of the memories from my eight-grade summer. It was just yesterday I was searching for four-leaf clovers under the big oaks on our front lawn, always wishing for the luck of hopeless romance to find me. The damp grass tickled my toes when I ran barefoot chasing after the clouds, and trying to find the double rainbows hidden among them. It was the year of so many changes. I had decided that my favorite color was green instead of purple. I tried fresh-cut sweet potato fries from the county fair for the first time, enjoyed the smell of my father’s grill on weekends, and most of all I got my first kiss from Pat, the boy who lived next door and who I called Patrick when I was mad.

Now, as I lay here flashing a series of reminiscent images against a beige wall, the fifteen-inch TV outside my maximum-security cell catches my attention. I sip on yesterday’s cold brew, while I listen to the news anchor reporting the 20th anniversary of Abigail Murphy, a local teenager who brutally slaughtered her parents, younger brother, and boyfriend, after a summer cookout in July. I grin in celebration and count my blessings that I didn’t get the electric chair, so that I can hear I am still a legend. I guess my Jig isn’t up yet.

I might be a total couch potato but, just this once, I can make an exception.

Max had always jigged through life without a care since, unlike me, his boundless luck afforded him the luxury. If only I could be just a bit more like him and do more than brew up a storm wherever I go... Legend on the street said that patting his head would let some of his good luck rub off on you. Despite having done it on a daily basis as a kid, I have yet to receive his gift's blessing. Sometimes I wonder if it's just something Max made up to get me to pat his head, 'cause it always put such a big grin on his face.

I force myself to trudge up the lush green hill of clovers and in what feels like forever, I finally begin to see a familiar figure standing beneath a fading rainbow.

Max. You're finally back.

Emerald green

like the arch of a

rainbow

a colorful legend,

blessing of the sun

after gentle teeming

rain over potato mounded fields

The farmer does a jig

spilling his brew

between verdant spears

of crops breaking

rich earthy ground

Pat pat,pat

around each seedling

nutrition, prevention,

and a large dose of luck

A four leafed clover

Tucked in the brim of his hat

As long as I can remember, I've been colorblind. I've always seen the world in shades of green. The kids at school would make fun of me for it, especially Pat Sorenson, and it would often make me upset. In an effort to make me feel better, my grandma told me about a legend. That those with green vision were gifted by the Goddess of Luck.

I know she made it up, but it's still nice to think about. My grandma was just cool like that. I remember eating mashed potatoes with her in the trailer, watching movies together. Our favorite one was Clover, about a young girl entering a dance competition with an Irish jig. Grandma and I would make fun of it, especially all the cheesy special effects.

One day, grandma insisted I stop by her house. I thought it was an emergency, but when I got there, she had just made cookies.

"These aren't just any cookies," Grandma winked. "They give you blessings."

That's my grandma all right. I tasted one and took the rest home. But on my drive, I noticed something.

A rainbow. With more than one color.

It was almost as if I could taste it. For the first time ever, I was seeing colors. I pulled over to the side of the road and just stared. Grandma was right. She was right all along.

The jig is up

no one ever brewed blessings

from green potatoes

you can pat yourself on the back

for becoming the modern legend of luck

but there's more to everything

then most people acknowledge

you can't plant a rainbow

from seeds of clover.

Clover called me over

A blessing

In a potato field

Legend says

It’s luck

But here

I am the rainbow

Walking

A sprig of green

Is no match

For self belief

As I brew

My own fortunes

And pat tales

Back into their cavities

I will dance this jig forever

They put the GREEN fresh CLOVER there, and poured down some lemon juice,

They called that drink a LEGEND, and it was, for sure. Served with fried POTATO, we used to drink it every weekend, sitting in their cosy café, speaking over our good or bad LUCK, the girls, etc..

I always wondered how they BREW that cocktail. I bet they have to fix the plug with some kind of JIG, or hermetic glue, or other tool, to keep it inside the bottle... so powerful the sparkles of the drink become as they get to the surface.

Once I was sitting there looking at the RAINBOW outside (it was after a cold March rain); my pal Joe was resisting the temptation to PAT his girlfriend's head, while she was also looking at the shining drops of water.

Later, there came a BLESSING! For what would you call it otherwise: our other friend, Louis, joined us at the table with a glass of our well-known cocktail, shouting out loud "YOU WON'T BELIEVE ME, GUYS! I WON IT, I WON IT! I WON THAT ONE-HUNDRED-THOUSAND DOLLAR LOTTERY!"

LEGEND HAS IT:

(for Blessing)

just pat a green

Potato then Jig

some Clover in,

distill the Brew,

And drink it up.

GOOD LUCK !!!

03.05.2023

Ten word No St.Patty challenge @Finder

I am lost, my identity has been taken from me because of slavery, I lie here wide awake with insomnia, analyzing myself. A glass of Clover diary fresh milk with a teaspoon of honey should pat the insomnia to a sleep state.

I finally fall into a deep slumber, I hear your voice, oh grandfather, I take your hand & we walk through the Green pastures of Sugar cane that my ancestors planted. There before me I see a beautiful woman, she looks battered & malnourished, she’s on her knees, harvesting potatoes in the blistering sun, she digs up a potato.

As she holds her back & arise, she turns around with the look of pain on her face, she’s highly pregnant.

She‘s about to give birth, I ask my grandfather, “what should we do grandfather?”He says, “this is the legend of our people my child, I am showing you the truth.”

She gives birth alone in the green garden, the baby looks like Master, this is the rainbow child, a blessing out of rape, war & slavery.

I wake up, I brew with anger & rage, how can human beings treat others in such a way, what made whites so superior that they felt the need to enslave my people, invade our lands, rape our women.

I jig to the rhythm & drums as I express my anger in dance with the company of my ancestors, Legends performed & shown through dance. I am the Rainbow child.

“Yes! I’m awake before the alarm. What a legend!” Julie said proudly, as she crawled out of bed. “The sun is bright, the grass is green. The only thing missing is a rainbow. Well! No extra luck for me today, but waking up is my first blessing”. She said, while walking to the kitchen. She took a moment to pat Bri. “Morning, love.” she said softly. Little Bri wagged her tail in glee. Julie however, was about to head to her fifth interview in two weeks and could not be trapped by the little fluff ball of joy. “Mommy has another interview today! So be good” Julie said as she opened her refrigerator. “Hmm, breakfast. What’s on the menu?”. She searched the refrigerator and found an egg, a potato and a slice of cheese. As she gathered the ingredients, the egg slipped out of her hand and cracked on the floor. Julie sighed “My last egg huh? Just my luck. I guess it’s baked potato with cheese today. Anyway, today will be great.” She sighed. “At least I can brew some tea.” She said, forcing a smile as she prepared breakfast. While eating, she glared at the four leaf clover she tapped to her window the night before “Please bring me luck today". After breakfast, she got ready and prepared to leave. While leaving, she turned around to re-checked the door “Ok, one last jig….good!. Let's face the world.” she said with the last bit of optimism she could muster.