Tuesday, August 22, 2006

lines from a Sunday

These gifts I wear like memories.
Grandma's ring. Michelle's necklace.
Daddy's sweater.
A few try to escape
when I press them for what they know
of beloved backyards and pansy patches.
A field of corn does the same dance
in Ohio as in my belly, but
tell me no secrets, while
the scent of talcum powder opens
ancient jewelry boxes.

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