My Mother’s Desk

(work in progress)

My Mother’s Desk

My mother’s desk contains remains behest

and left unturned:

a concentrated turquoise Quink;

a fountain of ancestral prose,

its oak re-turned by shapes of elbowed woes, ingrained as pain was softened, shaped to narratives that yearned to reach a whisper’s speech, pale-blue, light as air-mail’s flight, 

ocean’s drift, 

kiss-wished and since ribbon-wrapped,  

kinder memories. 

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