Blogging & Poems, My Poems

Hand-Painted Mailbox

 

                                                  —A prose poem

 

One winter, a group of teens went racing
down a country road with a baseball bat and left

a series of metal carcasses
in the snow. One was dark blue

with a large crescent moon covering
half, little kid hand-shaped stars

covering the rest. Its house was dead and empty.

I carried the shape home, dug
through the frozen earth

and planted it there. Prayed
for another family of four.

Twin daughters. The months
were long and slow.

Lily of the Valley rose
in the Spring.

 

 

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