Image by Tess KincaidA lop-sided shoe box holds
the leftovers of a lack-luster
childhood: a scout pin,
more pot-metal than brass,
two loose patches never stitched
to a sash. The sun goes down.
No recitals, no blue ribbons,
just a school snapshot, creased
through the face and a ragged proof
of baptism by immersion. Contemplate
the cornucopia, shiny, in a trophy case.
Breathe a huff of moisture on the glass,
take out your hankie and polish
a round view, browse, deep, until
you see the bounty of a fruitful womb;
loving cups line your table, play
hopscotch in your keep.
Tess Kincaid
November 2010
Posted over on her site Willow Manor
Listed as #1 over on Magpie Tales 42
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