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My Cardboard Box
I found you behind the liquor store.
Stamped "Jack" on each side.
Perfectly square, clean and sturdy.
I took you home.
I gave you little parts of me,
two tickets to the opera,
the blue blanket I made, still unfinished,
my grandmother's bronze jewelry box,
and several valued treasures.
Assured you'd store them securely,
I filled you corner to corner.
For a year you held up.
Perfectly composed.
Shut tight.
I took you from place to place,
until, one day
I found you torn.
I attempted to fix you, tape you.
I bought the strongest kind.
I've tried staples and glue,
but, no matter what I do,
you just keep falling apart.
The Hum Of The Morning
Trying your
needle nosed, long tongue
into each
honey suckle, sugar water.
I laugh at the performance
and call you many names:
Ruby Red Throat, Ms. Autumn,
Oh Wing-ed One!
Circling your timeline
of eat and sleep,
all day, each day.
Always reliable,
always performing.
Brittany Hackett
Email: Brittany Hackett
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