Actually, it was a recipe holder.
Ok, it was a stick painted yellow
with brown spots and a glued-on
clothes-pin stuck into a styrofoam
cup filled with plaster of Paris.
It was a Mother’s Day present.
It came from kindergarten
and it was in my hands when I got mad.
(Mom, it’s my turn to sit up front!)
It was unwrapped by my stomping feet.
It is the eyes shut tight
of every Mother’s Day since.
Boston Literary Magazine - spring 2012