Before mom said
Before mom said
If I ever want to sell this house—
and had it torn down.
I imagine the destruction
to be piece by piece
like the old cotton mill
up the street from
Mema’s house—
not violent, not
allatonce—
piece by piece
the way the art
exhibit is moved:
a thousand carved
lipsticks
by refrigerated truck.
And mom said,
If it’s that important to you,
go out there and find
a piece of wood
a nail or something
to keep.
No comments:
Post a Comment