hobby horses


    What do I do with all of these things


    which were never mine? Your dirty knees,


    bubblegum smile. I was listening


    to daddy’s baritone wind pipes


    when you captured the tattered tabby cat,


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    held her pumpkin body under pale bedsheets


    the color of plastic skeleton bones and daddy’s pillow.


    Buck tooth smile, ladybug freckles, gecko tails:


    you thought they wouldn’t run, abandon their


    ends. Shoe strings, your over read picture book,


    paint under your arms, caked in your scarecrow hair.


    Favorite horse, soft like the living room cushions, stiff


    as daddy’s collared shirts and old kitchen dish cloths.


    You dragged that pony everywhere, sucking on one


    glass eye in all these old photographs I tape


    over the windows.


    Old hobby horses, muffling dusty light.