cultivated pearls trace moons and stars
irritations glossed and swallowed whole
fallen stones, the space the absense scar,
a surface taut and meaningful, a braille;
a little studded mouth. I clasp, I clutch,
concealing secret keys and coded notes,
and fuzzy corners I don't frequent, much;
there's powder on the mirror in a coat . . .
I have a silver penny for a charm
a flower hot and red beneath my glove
and air for words, my shield, my sword, my arm,
sewn up with pretty beads, and stitched with love.
Pandora's box. A weighty, beaded purse,
and overwrought but true, my little verse.
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